


Apocalypso

by withthepilot



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Drug Addiction, Dubious Consent, Infidelity, M/M, Songfic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:18:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the arc of Chris and Zach's relationship, from their explosive first meeting and through the blossoming of their careers, to the downward spiral of an unhealthy, codependent relationship that nearly undoes them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocalypso

**Author's Note:**

> "Apocalypso" is a ten-part songfic, inspired by the Presets' LP of the same name. The prologue and nine chapters that follow are each based on a track from the album and use lyrics throughout the text, which are highlighted in italics. The story as a whole deals with adult themes and scenarios that include drug use/abuse, dub-con and infidelity.

**Prologue: Kicking and Screaming**

 _When I was young  
I collected my heroes  
When I was young  
I was a star amongst zeroes_

The first time Zach takes Chris to bed, it's kicking and screaming.

It's Karl's bed, big and perfectly made in crisp blue sheets and a navy duvet. Chris is so high that he feels like a supernova, thrumming and aglow against the dark colors. Zach is the one that wrestled him in here, away from Karl's going-away party, locking the door behind them; he's the one pinning him down now, one hand pressed to his shoulder and the other to his hip. Chris has to squint to keep the image of him in focus, or he'll afraid Zach will melt into him: warm, dark mahogany coating his body.

Chris doesn't know he got here, how he found his way to this moment. One line too many in the bathroom, for starters; Zach was in the other room, probably trying to talk John or Karl out of their staunch heterosexuality, and Anton was just there with him, offering the nose candy with some kind of remark about how he heard it's his favorite. He took it because he wanted it, because it was something that made sense. Satisfied, he went to rejoin the party, the thick knots of the music's bass line going down perfectly smooth; he grew quickly alarmed when the same pulsing beats had him shaking like the living room furniture, struggling against the volume and rattling between the walls.

"Hey, is he okay?" Anton asked, in between sips of something pink. He looked on in concern as Zach hauled Chris away from the throb of the party, his hands fisted in the cotton of his shirt.

"He'll be fine," Zach said. Chris saw that he made sure to smile.

Zach has a million smiles and Chris is trying to keep a running list of all of them in his head, but he's starting to lose track. There's one for every occasion, for every feeling or emotion he has to instill in another person at any given time. He's a true actor, bending others to his will. He's a fucking hero.

 _But then I grew up  
And now I'm heading up river  
I'm gonna cover myself in mud, mud  
Yeah, I'm a deliverer_

" _Stop_ it, Chris. Stop it, _now_ ," he growls. He smacks Chris hard across the face and it doesn't hurt as much as it should. Chris sobs and twists beneath him.

"I c-can't, Zach, I _can't_...s'like ants inside me, feel like I'm on fuckin' fire..."

"I don't want to do this with you again." Zach pushes down harder on Chris' chest and twists his fingers in his hair, pulling hard enough to make him gasp in pain. "Focus, Christopher. Fucking _focus_."

"F-focus...on what?" he hisses. He wishes like hell Zach would just take him home. He knows there's no way in hell Zach is going to do that, now.

"On my voice. On my face, my hands." Chris tries to concentrate on the steady tone of Zach's voice, his trembling subsiding by a fracture. "There," Zach whispers, caressing his jaw. "Now, aren't we having fun?"

He tugs on Chris' hair again but much lighter this time, enough to get Chris to trust him. When he opens his eyes, Zach is smiling again, but Chris senses the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He mentally curses himself for needing the man so much, for relishing the feel of those lithe fingers in his hair. Chris knows he's willing to buy whatever Zach may be selling. So does Zach.

 _When I was young  
Yeah, I used to believe it  
That the stars in the night sky were suns  
That refused to sink_

"I wouldn't do this for anyone else," Zach says. He pulls back and opens Chris' jeans so swiftly that he doesn't even grasp what's happening until his cock is being sucked into Zach's burning hot mouth, a focal point that shines as brightly as the North Star.

"Fuck, yes, _Zach_ ," Chris groans, immediately pushing his hands into Zach's hair. His fingers are clumsy and tousle the impeccably coiffed and gelled dark strands. It's always been one of Chris' favorite things to do: trying to see how unmanicured and disheveled he can render Zach, who always takes such care to look put-together. How many buttons can he pop off his dress shirt, how many rips in the seams of his trousers, how many scratches on his forearms? It's all part of a game he'll never admit to playing because he's not supposed to; once you admit you're playing, you lose. Zach taught him that, among many other things, including some that Chris is sure he can't and shouldn't yet understand—things that will unravel themselves over time until they're as unmistakable as Zach's blunt fingernails scratching their way down his thighs.

Or maybe he's just really high and in need of something to latch onto besides the chocolate silk of Zach's hair. Maybe he's been high for years, confused and misled, and only now can he finally see things for what they clearly are.

Zach's tongue swirls around his cock and laps at the head, then flickers just beneath it, exercising a formerly hidden expertise. Chris stares down at Zach's forehead and pants heavily, attempting this focusing thing. He remembers earlier in the evening, sitting on one of Karl's balconies and trying to make out stars through the haze of the nighttime smog in the Los Angeles sky. Lately, he's found himself looking at the stars less often than he once did, even though his new life revolves around a story that unfolds in space. He's become a star in his own right now, a pulse of light expected to remain bright yet stable while surrounded by an increasingly volatile universe of celebrity. It's a road that Zach has traveled, that Chris once envied.

They were just smoking pot. Zach balanced a wineglass, long emptied, in the crook of his index and middle fingers. Chris watched it dangle and sway, never really in danger of falling unless Zach made the conscious decision to let it go. After a while, Chris shifted his feet, propped up on the railing and crossed at the ankles, and returned his gaze to the sky. He picked up a toy from the table, a mini version of the _Enterprise_ just like the salt shaker in the film, and pretended to steer it through the sky, humming the _Star Trek_ theme. He caught Zach smiling at him—fondly, to his own private joy—and he shrugged.

"When I was a kid," he started, trying not to trail off before he finished his thought, "I used to think the stars were smaller suns that never went down 'cause they just refused to sink." He looked at Zach and smiled, feeling languid as the evening breeze cooled the sweat on the back of his neck. "Stoner talk, ignore me."

"Mmm," Zach hummed, coolly. He lifted the wineglass and ran his bottom lip slowly along its rim, stained with his mouth prints. "Nothing can refuse to sink if something comes along to sink it. Stars, ships, ambitions...they all sink when it's their time."

Zach hums now, as he did earlier, lifting his gaze to meet Chris' as he hollows his cheeks. It doesn't matter that the bedroom door is closed; he can hear the music just as loudly as before, thumping against his eardrums and insisting he listen. He hears Zach, too, through his unrelenting scratches, heavy and just as insistent.

 _And then I sank_

His hands are still in Zach's hair but the crawling feeling has ceased. Or maybe it's just abated and will return later. Zach strokes Chris' trembling hipbones, then lifts his thumb delicately to his mouth and wipes any memory of this from his lips. He lets Chris keep his hands where they are and digs up something new from the bag of smiles, one that Chris has never seen and isn't sure he can decipher.

"Again, I would not do that for anyone but you," he says. He looks collected in contrast to Chris' harsh pants for air, the unabashed neediness that he knows, in some way, embarrasses Zach, and in another way, delights him.

"Why me?" he whispers.

"I need you," Zach says, then after a pause, "to let me sink you."

Chris takes a deep breath as a new system of stars forms against the backs of his eyelids. Eventually, they take their leave. Zach says something else, but it doesn't quite register, nor does the banging on the bedroom door paired with Karl's voice, calling their names. Chris isn't bothered; he lets it all drift away.

It's not actually the first time he and Zach have gone to bed at all—that night has long since come and gone. But each time, he shuts his eyes and tells himself to forget, so it'll always feel that way. On nights like this, it's almost too easy.

 _Never can believe how much fun we're having  
Can't believe how much fun we're having_

 **I. My People**

 _I'm here with all of my people  
Locked up with all of my people  
So let me hear you scream if you're with me_

These are Zach's people: these creeping, beautiful creatures in the club dressed in patent leather, lace, chain mail and all colors of netting and webbing. He sticks to black and white; he prefers to come off as debonair in the hopes that he'll find some easily intrigued young thing and lure him/her in. He's got his own nets and webs without the accoutrements, and that's all he ever needs.

He licks his lips and swivels his hips in time to the beat, peering down at the raging crowd from his perch high above in one of the club's dangling cages. He loves the feeling of being on display, putting on a show for the masses as if he's fresh meat hanging from a butcher's hook. He curls his fingers around the metal bars and smirks as he feels his biceps tense with the movement. He swears that when he's here, his favorite club, he has a hard-on from the moment he steps foot inside to the moment he leaves—even if some kind soul comes along and attempts to take care of it sometime in between, it just comes right back. He loves it—the constant throb is a reminder of his pulse and that he's alive, holding his own among these vulnerable vampires. He likes to think he's not one of them.

He dressed earlier this evening and tingled with the feeling that something might happen tonight, something more than just a sloppy blowjob in a back room. His dark eyes scan the dance floor and the bar as he looks for someone who could tempt him— _really_ tempt him. Sex isn't a temptation in Zach's world, after all; it's a given. He craves someone who might make him snap to attention, give him reason to want and _want_ —someone who can really shake things up.

To his happy surprise, it doesn't take long.

 _Tall and tan and young and lovely  
I follow all around the world for you  
And you'll find out tonight, oh, it's a world of extremes_

The eyes are as bright as the lights blaring on an oncoming freight train and Zach almost feels his chest crushed with the impact. Ice blue, they seem to pierce right through the sea of black writhing around them, like a lighthouse making its presence known amidst the rolling fog. Zach presses his body against the bars to look closer before realizing he's stopped dancing, and it's never good to break character like that, even if twin glaciers framed by glittering, golden skin and hair are looking his way. He brings his hands to the back of his neck and drags them down his body as he undulates his hips. Blue Eyes takes a sip of his drink—not beer, but something amber-colored—and trades a few words with someone—a friend, lover?—all the while smiling wanly up at Zach. He looks out of place in a red, plaid short-sleeved shirt and jeans, which, of course, instantly makes him the most interesting person in the place.

Zach exits the cage when he sees Blue Eyes finish his drink. Stakeout time. His preferred method is to enter the general area without an obvious agenda, so the other party assumes the responsibility of the stakeout and, indeed, feels as though the ball remains securely in one court. He weaves his way through the crowd and can't help but smile when he feels a hand clasp his shoulder.

"Hey," he hears, and when he turns around, there he is. Tall and tan and young and lovely, with a face and body he could follow to the ends of the earth. Absolutely breathtaking. So much light in contrast to all this dark that Zach knows so well. He can change that, of course. If he wants to.

He nods to the man and returns, "Hey." He flashes what he considers an alluring but controlled smile. "You don't belong here, do you?"

"Is that your way of telling me I don't fit in?" And, oh, of _course_ the smile is just as luminous as the eyes. Isn't that always the way. And isn't he glad? "My friend brought me, but I don't know why. Everyone here seems to go to extremes and I'm straight-up Abercrombie in comparison."

"You're not exactly up to dress code, but honestly, it's a breath of fresh fucking air. And not just for me, if all the looks you're getting are any indication."

"I'm getting looks?" He starts darting his gaze around as if he can catch someone in the act. Zach exhales. This is refreshing. He finds that he wants to play along.

"You haven't noticed?"

"Well...I was distracted." The man quirks a brow and motions skyward. "Hot guy dancing in a suspended cage. Don't get to see that every day."

Zach grins. "Then you're obviously doing something wrong."

"I'm wising up." Blue Eyes tilts his head, extends a hand. "Chris," he says, and oh, what the hell, he's feeling generous tonight. He takes it, lingering as he caresses lithe fingers.

"I'm Zach."

 _Still the celebration haunts  
Today I heard it on the radio  
You've gone and found a way to get me out of this place_

"Wanna get out of this place?" Zach asks, leaning in and speaking close to Chris' ear. They've been dancing together for about twenty minutes now and Zach would be lying if he claimed to be uninterested in what else those sinuous hips on Abercrombie can do. It feels like everyone in the club is watching them, which makes perfect sense—they're a mismatched pair when it comes to outward appearance but Zach can sense how alluring it must come off, like a living, breathing Mondrian painting on the dance floor.

Chris turns his head, making the pretense of looking for his friend, even though he hasn't been interested in finding him since they started chatting. But Zach understands; if the friend is annoyed, Chris can at least say he tried. "Yeah, definitely," he says, with a playful grin.

Zach is caught off guard by the fluttery feeling in his chest. He places a hand against Chris' lower back and leads him.

He's not one for fucking in alleys or deserted men's rooms (if he can help it), so he brings Chris to his car and drives to his place. Chris lays a hand on Zach's thigh but doesn't move to do anything dirty, and somehow that makes Zach hotter than an outright rubdown or the prospect of road-head. He can see that Chris understands anticipation. Or maybe he's attempting to be romantic? No, the lusty look in his eyes gives it away.

"What's your place like? All done up in black and white like you?" Chris licks his lips as he looks at him, and damn if that isn't sexy as fuck. There's a light sheen of sweat over his throat and down to his collarbone, visible to Zach's eye, thanks to the undone buttons on the plaid shirt.

"On the contrary, lots of color. And a dog."

"Yeah? What's its name?"

"Noah." He looks at Chris and smiles faintly at his genuine interest. "Don't worry, he loves handsome strangers."

"Some pets take after their owners." Chris laughs and it's a bright, flickering thing, a spark flying off in a wayward path from a bursting firework.

"I can see you're going to be a handful, Christopher." He steals a glance at Chris and notices a light flush on his neck. He's obviously not used to being called that. Zach can only imagine what he'll do when Zach says it during sex, while his cock is pushing its way between those slick, fuckable lips and down his waiting throat.

"I'm more than a handful."

Chris squeezes Zach's inner thigh for emphasis and Zach shivers, pulling into his driveway. He can't remember the last time he met someone who could keep up with him, who could render him somewhat speechless.

He puts the car in park. "Come on," he says, getting out of the car, but Chris is already one step ahead of him.

 _Soldiers on the waterfront  
They wanna ship me far away  
I'll find my way tonight so I can find my way to you_

They don't get very far; Zach finds himself pressed against his front door immediately after it closes. Chris is pleasingly eager, sucking and biting at his mouth as he works open Zach's too-tight trousers, forcefully pushing them down his hips. He lucked out tonight; he could never have guessed that he would end up here with this all-American, blond-haired, blue-eyed vision of loveliness, freeing and stroking his cock with abandon.

Chris drops to his knees swiftly, like he's born to do this. It's quite the spectacle. Zach feels himself gaping a bit and tries, unsuccessfully, to keep his mouth closed. Those blue eyes and dark red mouth are all he sees.

"God, you're hot," Chris whispers. Zach feels an urge to return the compliment somehow but settles for sliding his hand through Chris' hair, over the back of his head, guiding him. Chris holds his thighs and takes his cock immediately, not bothering to tease at all, just sucking gratefully. Zach is used to this—his conquests treating him like a gift. But he can tell Chris doesn't have some "I'm not worthy" complex; he's just actually enjoying this, unabashedly sucking the cock of a man he sought out and chose.

Or didn't _he_ choose _Chris_? God, he can't remember now, not with Chris' tongue doing those amazing things to the slit of his cock, as well as the underside of the shaft and all over his balls... _fuck_. Zach fists his hand in Chris' hair and the dried sweat from the club makes it stand on end, molding to his grip. He likes that. He pulls experimentally and elicits a low groan, sending vibrations all up and down the length of his cock. Zach gasps his approval and pushes Chris' head down further, tugging his hair again when he catches sight of Chris rubbing himself through his jeans.

"Don't," he growls. Chris obeys but looks up at him with a challenge in his eyes. He swallows around Zach's cock and swirls his tongue in a way that Zach can barely fathom as humanly possible, and that's it, Chris has got him right where he wants him. A harsh suck and a light scrape of teeth, and Zach is gone, shooting fast and heavy into Chris' mouth. He thinks distantly that he never got to call him "Christopher."

As soon as he's on his feet, Zach fists his hands in Chris' shirt and kisses him hard, pushing him backwards, further into the house. Soon they're in the kitchen and Zach wastes no time in pushing Chris down onto the counter, an awkward position with the edge digging into his back. Before Chris can hiss or complain, Zach's got his hand on his crotch, rubbing his erection with deft rolls of his palm.

" _Fuck_...fuck, fuck...god, Zach..." Chris is writhing, half-distracted by the counter digging into him, and he claws at Zach's biceps in a way that makes it clear he's loving this. His hips buck and Zach answers with a squeeze of his hand.

"Christopher," he whispers, and there's that delicious flush again, now paired with half-lidded eyes that tell Zach only one thing. Again, he finds himself struck by the good fortune of finding his way to this tan, gorgeous, strapping young man. The look on his face is already making him hard again, so he feels confident in taking what he wants. He bends to lick hotly at Chris' mouth, murmuring, "I'm going to take care of you."

A harsh swipe of his palm and a twist of Chris' nipple through the damp fabric of his shirt have the gorgeous boy lifting up in an almost perfect arc beneath him, jerking with the force of an orgasm that Zach can feel rippling beneath his hand, thoroughly staining those dark, form-fitting jeans.

Zach wants to keep him.

 _And it feels so  
And it feels so good_

Outside, the morning is hazy with the dense Los Angeles smog. Zach wakes with an unfamiliar arm wrapped around his middle and when he sees who it belongs to, he decides not to remove it or say anything at all. Instead, he plays with Chris' matted hair and watches him sleep, this boy who looks right at home in Zach's bed.

Chris returns to consciousness slowly, muffling a yawn into a pillow. "Hey," he says when he opens his eyes, not even questioning the fact that he's here. "You hungry?"

"Yeah, are you?" Zach replies, still toying with his hair.

"Starved." He stretches and Zach watches appreciatively, amused by how Chris can be so hungry directly after waking. "I make a bitchin' omelet. And stupendous home fries."

"Stupendous, huh? I'm intrigued." Zach looks at the clock. "I've got an audition for a show at one, so I've gotta be out of here by 12:15ish."

Chris tilts his head, then laughs. "You're an actor, too, huh? Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Dime a dozen, in this town."

Zach laughs. "It's for a show called _Heroes_. This serial killer character."

"Cool. I'm sure you'll get it." Chris nods definitively without asking any other questions and sits up, grabbing his jeans from the floor and wrinkling his nose at the stain inside them. "Ech. Can I borrow a pair of boxers while I put these in the wash?"

"In there," Zach simply says, waving toward a chest of drawers. He lets his gaze travel over the golden vision walking around his room, sliding on the boxers. It shouldn't feel so natural, lending Chris underwear, letting him cook in his kitchen, eating the food he makes before he leaves to go to work. But here they are, and Zach finds he doesn't mind at all. It's seamless, really; just like that, Chris has become one of Zach's people. He's excited to try something new. And he has no problem kissing Chris languidly by the stove as he makes home fries, joining him in the shower, or letting Chris help him pick out an outfit for the audition, trading barbs about the insane amount of pleather in his wardrobe and how at least he's not running around dressed as a queer lumberjack.

Zach is a firm believer in controlling one's own destiny and always has been; he's never hesitated to cut people off when they try to enter his life and mess with the predetermined plan. And he can tell by the way Chris tosses him his keys as they leave that he wants in when it comes to Zach's life; that he wants to be kept as much as Zach wants to keep him. It's only clearer when he shows up at Zach's door later that night, kissing him breathless before asking how the audition went.

Still, as he sits in his armchair and watches Chris slowly undress at his command, he can't help but be pleased with this turn of events. Talk about shaking things up. He leans back and decides there and then to let this one flow.

 _I'm here with all of my people  
Shot down with all of my people  
So let me hear you scream if you're with me_

 **II. A New Sky**

 _Over and outside  
And under dark lights we'll fly  
Over a new sky  
I wonder, oh, what you are_

Chris has firmly decided that life is _good_. He looks up at the morning sky, clad in a borrowed bathrobe from Zach and sitting near his—boyfriend? lover?—lover's picture window, drinking from a rich mug of coffee. Everything looks so clear and bright at this hour and Chris half-wonders why exactly it is that he's never considered himself a morning person when mornings can be this exquisite.

Inside, Zach is getting ready for another day of shooting down at the _Heroes_ set. The show has really taken off and Chris tries his best every damn day to suppress the jealousy he feels for the older man, now that he's one of those people the paparazzi actually find interesting, even while doing something as ordinary as checking the mail. Chris is still able to walk around town and be completely anonymous; Zach tells him to enjoy it while he can, that it's a precious thing, but he can't help but feel the grass is greener. After all, he's been anonymous his whole life. He's sick of having to settle for playing second fiddle to throwaway celebrities like Lindsay fucking Lohan in garbage films. But in the mean time, he just keeps going to auditions, hoping someone will recognize exactly what's inside him.

Not that Zach doesn't deserve his fame. Zach is definitely not a fan of watching his own work, but Chris takes care to keep up with _Heroes_ by downloading episodes, and fuck if Zach isn't amazing in it. Chris imagines playing a twisted serial killer isn't too much of a stretch for him; Zach could probably keep creep anyone out with a subtle flick of his well-sculpted eyebrow, a glint of his too-sharp teeth. But it's fun to watch his character evolve and see what Zach can do with the plot twists that the writers throw at him. Once, he was so impressed with Zach's handling of a scene that he rewound it and took notes.

He's not above admitting that Zach could teach him a few things. Hell, he's taught him quite a lot already.

 _I'm on my way, getting pulled to the light  
Baby don't know, baby don't see  
Baby won't fear tonight_

It's been months since they first met. About three or four weeks into their relationship—if one could even call it that—Zach started testing Chris' limits, began to teach him. Sometimes it was small things. How long could Chris stand wearing a cock ring, while completely hard, before he started begging? (Answer: not very long, but his endurance was improving.) Then it got a little more personal, a little more psychological. Chris was totally aware of the implications but found he didn't mind; he enjoyed giving himself over to Zach and doing all he could to form and keep a strong connection with him. He was pleased with himself for not losing Zach's interest, even if Zach always declined to call them a "couple." They were what they were: just Chris and Zach, Zach and Chris. Something about that was extremely comforting.

One night, Zach put Chris in his car and blindfolded him, refusing to tell him exactly where they were going for about thirty minutes. Then came the reveal: "We're going to an overlook up near the hills, by my brother's place."

"Overlook?" Chris asked, his breath hitching. He's always been afraid of heights (specifically, falling from heights) and Zach damn well knew this.

"You're going to learn to trust me," Zach said.

"I _do_ trust you, but—"

"'But,'" Zach repeated. Chris could almost hear him smirk. "We'll see."

When they got there, Chris let Zach lead him the entire way, hoping he was keeping his nerves to the occasional tremble. He felt the incline of the ground beneath his feet and tried to go to his happy place; it used to be a beer commercial-style island party full of hot blondes of both sexes and now seemed to be in Zach's bedroom, getting the third degree for wearing ugly jock clothes before they were swiftly torn off his body. Zach held his hand tightly and kept saying things like, "You're fine" and "Nearly there" and "I've got you." Chris wanted so badly to believe him.

Eventually they came to a stop and Zach held him tightly, as if to let go would invite danger.

"Okay, Chris. We're near the edge of the precipice. It's rocky, so don't make any sudden moves." Chris whimpered and shook in Zach's grip, unable to help it now.

"Zach, please, I wanna go home...your house, to your place..."

"Chris, you're not in danger. I've got you. Do you trust me?"

"Yes, but..." His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. He wanted to toe at the ground, to test it, but feared it might crumble beneath him. His hands gripped Zach's forearms tightly and he thought he could hear a faint hiss in response.

"No buts. Do you _trust_ me?"

Chris licked his lips and against his better judgment, finally replied, "Yes." That was when Zach let go of him. Chris' first instinct was to flail wildly, but he remained stock still, biting his tongue fiercely and balling his hands into fists at his sides, praying to whatever gods might exist out there that Zach would take hold of him again. He did, after about thirty seconds, and Chris nearly collapsed into his arms, overcome with the outpour of tension and anxiety threatening to render him useless. Zach pulled off the blindfold, then, and pointed ahead; they were at least twenty feet from the edge of the precipice and Chris had never been in any danger.

In retrospect, he should have known better than to believe Zach's story. But it was a test—a test that Chris had somehow passed. He didn't think Zach would have left if he did anything differently, but he knew that his willingness and loyalty proved something to Zach; something that was important to him. That much was obvious when Zach shoved Chris against the side of his car and bit at his mouth like it was ripe fruit, tugging his shirt up and immediately rutting against him. Chris was helpless but to reciprocate, thanks to the massive amount of adrenaline from earlier coursing through his bloodstream. They pulled and clawed and gripped at each other, and when Chris felt himself falling off the edge this time, he let it happen.

 _It's alright; it won't be long  
You're feeling something  
So won't you come outside with me?_

Zach emerges from the bedroom looking impeccable as always, even though he's strictly casual; he'll have to change clothes and go through makeup once he gets to the set anyway. Chris feels a little thrill just looking at him, the same one he felt when he saw him for the first time, dancing in that ridiculous cage in that club. He and Zach have already made up a new story for the tale of their meeting, agreeing that the club aspect might be too risqué for most. The false lore has already been widely distributed amongst their mutual and individual friend groups.

Zach adjusts his collar and goes to where Chris is sitting, kissing his temple. Chris smoothes his hand down the front of Zach's crisp shirt.

"Any of that for me?" Zach asks, motioning to Chris' mug of coffee.

"In the kitchen; still fresh."

Zach smiles as he takes his leave and Chris interprets it as a contented one. He returns a few minutes later, sipping from his own steaming mug and sitting down beside Chris. "Have you been here the whole time I was getting dressed?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Didn't feel like lying around in bed."

"Mm. Just looking out the window in a daze?" Chris shrugs one shoulder and smiles, a hint of embarrassment on his face that makes Zach laugh and shake his head. "You're the king of zoning out, you know that? Sometimes you seem so far away, I'm not even sure if you're actually here with me."

"Of course I am. I'm always with you." Chris slurps at the last of his coffee and fixes Zach with a pointed stare. "You know that."

"I suppose I do, yeah." Zach tears his eyes away from Chris and keeps drinking as he glances toward the window, a thoughtful expression overcoming him. "Come out to the balcony with me," he says.

"The balcony?" Chris looks in the direction of Zach's gaze and then shakes his head faintly, trying his best to shrug it off. "Ehh. No, thanks, I'm good right here."

"No, really. Come outside with me."

Chris finds himself frowning. "I don't want to. You know I don't like it out there," he says. Zach just smirks faintly and leans forward, getting into Chris' space. He feels a prickle of want rush along his spine at Zach's intrusion, his freshly showered scent and intense features.

"I'm not asking you."

 _Yeah, it's alright; sing like a song  
And now you're flying  
So won't you come and fly with me?_

It's not so bad, the balcony. Chris has been on it before and it's only three stories up, unlike the ones belonging to his friends with high-rise apartments, the ones that offer amazing views but terrifying heights. He looks around and licks his lips nervously; he knows Zach is right behind him when he hears the screen door slide shut. Chris makes sure not to stand too close to the railing so he can't see directly down. He's inwardly grateful for Zach's touch when he rubs a hand over his back, then massages both of Chris' shoulders. He closes his eyes, content to just be near him.

"Nice breeze this morning," Zach comments idly. Chris nods, taking a deep breath and telling himself to feel the breeze and let it relax him, knowing this is Zach's underlying command. He lets his fingers loosen slightly, his shoulders unknotting under Zach's nimble fingers. Chris thinks he could stay with him forever when things are like this: close to Zach, so sure and steady, his every word and touch bringing Chris a previously unknown sort of peace.

Zach, however, never lets him linger in this calm realm for very long. And true to form, the hands on Chris' shoulders suddenly push him forward. Chris reaches out for the railing with both hands on instinct, clamping down for a firm and scared grip, and his breath is nothing but a shaky and dry gasp for air. He makes the mistake of looking down, beyond the railing, and gets a glimpse of the unforgiving ground beneath them. His body seizes up in sudden, electric fear and his voice is reduced to a strained, high-pitched whisper.

"Zach, what the _fuck_ —?"

"Shhh."

Zach is pressed against his back in a moment flat, his hands reaching around Chris to undo the knot of the bathrobe, pulling the fabric free. Chris tilts his head back and tries to suppress a shudder as he feels his lover's hands roaming freely over his naked body, sliding tantalizingly slow over his chest and torso, then down his sides to his hipbones. He feels dizzy, wrought with conflicting surges of terror and lust, and he clings to the railing in his best efforts not to pitch forward off the balcony with any sudden movements. His knuckles turn ghost white with the severity of his grip.

He shudders as the breeze hits his exposed cock and Zach's hands stroke down his thighs, coming to rest on his ass. Deft fingers spread him apart and the tip of one taps his entrance teasingly. Chris would be choking on his own saliva if his mouth weren't so completely dry.

"Please, no, Z-Zach...can't do this, s'too much..." Chris feels tears pricking his eyes. He knows he sounds pathetic, babbling and pleading with Zach; that he's failed to be perfect for his lover because of his one stupid phobia. But he finds Zach's voice is laced with infinite patience.

"You can do this," he simply says. He pulls his hands back momentarily, returning them to flip up the back of the bathrobe. Chris gasps as the morning air grazes his exposed backside, whimpering when Zach's knee nudges his thighs further apart. He feels Zach's long fingers again and they're slick with lube now, circling him slowly before pushing inside. He's torn between his fear of the vast distance to fall from the rickety balcony (and when was the last time Zach had it reinforced, anyway?) and the undeniable thrill of Zach spreading him open and having his way with him, right here for all of Zach's neighbors to see, not to mention his possible paparazzi stalkers, and—oh, fuck. _Fuck_.

"Zach! Someone could _see_ ," he whispers, his voice shaking. "They all know where you live...oh, god..."

"Good," Zach replies. His voice is still relatively steady but Chris can hear the hint of arousal in his voice, coloring it with a faint rasp. He scissors his fingers suddenly, causing Chris to yelp in surprise. "I'd love a photograph of your face right now."

 _Hands in the air, going out of their minds  
In control but they won't take you alive_

When Zach finally sinks into him, Chris does his best to relax his body and accept it, to trust that Zach isn't going to do anything rash like shoving him over that creaky railing. He doesn't have any other choice. Zach's cock feels like a dark heaven inside him, pushing and pushing its way into Chris' most vulnerable places. He's never known anyone like Zach Quinto, never known anyone who can make him feel just like this: so bristling with desire and anxiety and _life_ that he can feel every intake of breath, every beat of his heart, and every wisp of a breeze against the light hairs adorning his skin.

Zach's cock is a _blessing_ and Chris has known this since the very first time he wrapped his lips around it. He almost wants the paps to see, so everyone knows just how lucky he is, a Hollywood nobody getting the goddamn royal treatment from one of the city's most gorgeous rising stars—though Chris is not after Zach for his fame or fortune and they're both well aware of that. A photo might be able to speak the words that Chris can't quite get out right now—something that could only start to describe the suffocating need for Zach that's enveloping him.

But this is not for anyone but them. They're not in control here. And Chris doesn't complain when he cries out and Zach presses a hand firmly over his mouth to silence him. The fingers of the same hand grip Chris' jaw and pull his face down so his gaze meets the ground below. He tenses with a muffled yell and Zach thrusts harder into him, angling to find his prostate. Chris bucks, his cock heavy and dark against his stomach and he's not sure what he's even saying against the flesh of Zach's palm, but the intensity of his pitch makes him distantly aware that he's begging.

"If you want to be touched," Zach grits out, pounding rhythmically into Chris now, his thrusts deep and powerful, "you'll have to do it yourself...let go of that railing." Chris jerks his head with a grunt, tightening his grip, and Zach pushes in so hard that Chris nearly feels impaled by the force of it. He bites at the side of Chris' neck, growling his displeasure. "Do it, Christopher, trust me and fucking _do_ it. Fucking _come_ for me."

Chris shudders and shuts his eyes, letting his synapses do the work. His fingers loosen from their death grip and float down to his cock, flexing once again. In less than ten seconds, he's coming in hot spurts over his own chest and the bars of the balcony, his entire world reduced to the hot pulses of pleasure that are his own aching cock and the cock buried deep in his ass. His eyes roll back when Zach pulls him back by his hips and follows suit, his body quaking as though it might fold in upon itself.

 _It's alright; it won't be long  
Sing like a song  
I won't say nothing_

When he opens his eyes again, he's still trying to find his breath, though it's easier being sprawled over Zach's lap. Zach shifts in the balcony chair and nuzzles the crook of Chris' neck, pulling the bathrobe closed over him. He's smooth-shaven in comparison to Chris' light scruff, and he idly wonders if the makeup girls over on the _Heroes_ set will be annoyed with Zach for any mild beard burn this causes. He turns his head and kisses Zach's brow, letting his lips linger.

"See," Zach whispers, rubbing Chris' stomach lightly. "Good things happen when you trust me."

"Why do you always think I don't trust you?" Chris murmurs.

"Well, I had to practically drag you out there, didn't I?"

"You know I'm afraid." He tucks his face against Zach's hair, causing him to sigh.

"I know, and I'm trying to help." Zach kisses just under his jaw and pauses in his words; Chris can practically hear the mental gears churning. "You just...need to get over this stuff, Chris. It's only going to hold you back when you're trying to get roles."

"How? That's what stunt doubles are for."

"Well. Not all the time. That's lazy." He reaches down to redo the knot of the bathrobe and Chris cranes his neck to watch Zach's slender hands at work. "Anyway, there's this part I want you to try out for with me."

"You want us to try for the same part? That can't possibly end well." Because Zach would likely trounce him, Chris knows. He leaves that part unsaid.

"Not the same part, just in the same movie. You'd be perfect—I could never do it. And it'd fucking catapult your career. It'd be a whole new sky up there." Chris blinks and looks up at the sky, noticing the way the clouds have already shifted from the positions they were in when he was watching earlier. He has a million questions for Zach, but the most pressing one feels something like _Why do you believe in me?_ Zach pats his side before he can ask a single one, urging him to stand up.

"Think about it," he says. "I gotta run, I'm late."

Chris obliges, rising with a small wince from the lingering burn of their fuck. He scratches his head and squints. "I will, man. But it'd probably help if you'd tell me what the hell the movie _is_ , so I know what I'm thinking about."

"I'll tell you more later." He leans in to kiss Chris goodbye, pressing his lips to the younger man's pout.

"Can't I get a hint?"

"I gave you one already." He points upward and lifts a brow. "A new sky."

Zach winks to him and goes back into the house, and about a minute later, Chris hears him letting himself out. Chris pouts for a while before realizing he's been standing right against the railing this entire time without a second thought. He nearly tears away from it then, but instead takes a moment to breathe it in—this moment completely devoid of fear. The kind of moment only Zach could teach him.

It's a half-hour later when he settles down on the sofa to check his e-mail. His eyes travel immediately to a recent message from Zach, containing only a single attachment and a subject heading that reads: _Never mind, I couldn't wait_. He opens the file and finds himself blinking at an agency memo regarding casting for the new _Star Trek_ film, a call for newcomers interested in auditioning for a list of still available roles. _Someone_ has highlighted the text that reads "Captain James T. Kirk."

"Oh, wow, I... _what_? Wow," he whispers, burying his hand in his hair. A moment later, his fingers are flying over his laptop's keyboard, typing a swift response for Zach.

 _You're right; you would suck balls at that._

 _But I could totally see you in Spock ears._

 _C_

 _Go on and go on  
Sing like a song  
I won't say nothing_

 **III. Talk Like That**

 _My, how you've grown  
I think I'll call you on the telephone  
And tell you all the things that I've been missing_

As soon as they're out of the room, Zach has Chris pinned to the wall of the corridor, where they're completely out of sight. He grabs him by the face, cupping him tightly with both hands and leans close to him, feeling breathless.

"You...are a fucking _talented_ little shit," he whispers, licking at Chris' mouth. The younger man laughs anxiously against Zach's lips and grabs at his hips. Zach can't help but grin. "That was absolutely sick, Chris. They _have_ to pick you. That was just... _inspired_."

"Man, I was just vibing off you...I don't even know where that came from, it wasn't nearly as good the first time!"

"You're going to get this part," Zach says, staring into his favorite pair of blue eyes. "You know that, right? You're going to get it and your life is never going to be the same. You're going to be a massive, unparalleled star, Christopher."

Chris swallows visibly and Zach has to stop himself somehow from leaning in to suck on that glorious bump along his tanned throat. He can tell that Chris is holding something back with the way he's squinting, his tongue nervously running over his lips. When he speaks, it's slow and purposeful. "Zach, thank you so much."

Zach quirks a brow and smiles. "For what? It's all true."

"Not the compliments." Chris reaches up and runs his fingers through Zach's hair, tucking an errant strand of dark, dark brown behind his ear. "You know what."

Zach feels himself color slightly and leans into Chris' touch without meaning to. He doesn't know how he suddenly got so wrapped up in this boy, how he let this happen, but it's too late now. And it doesn't help that Chris just proved how fucking amazing he is when he's really on. Zach's seen a couple of his films before, mostly throwaway stuff that wasn't worth Chris' time, easy paycheck stuff. But this, _this_...it's the kind of thing Chris was made to do. Who'd have known Abercrombie from the Club had it in him, this undiscovered diamond mine of skill and unbridled talent?

He's not above admitting that he finds Chris' acting aptitude quite sexy. He presses their foreheads together and strokes Chris' cheekbones, his hands still on his face. "Let's go back to my place," he whispers.

"Can't." Chris sighs, looking disappointed. "Promised I'd go visit my parents this weekend; I'm heading out there tonight. Gotta go home and do some last-minute packing, then hit the road."

"Then we'll have to be quick." Zach kisses Chris deeply, rubbing his jaw to coax his mouth open, then slipping his tongue between his lips and tracing the edges of his teeth. Chris moans as he twists their tongues together, arching up delicately, and Zach can't help but wonder at the notion that this boy is _his_. "You're such a hot piece, you know that?" he whispers. "So fucking sexy reading those lines. You're gonna call me as soon as you hear, right? This weekend? And then I'll tell you all the things about you that I'm missing while you're gone, all the things that make me hot."

Chris exhales shakily and nods, sucking on Zach's bottom lip. "God, yeah. You'll be the first person I call."

"Good," Zach says. He grabs Chris by the wrist and drags him to the men's room, pulling him inside and locking the front door behind them.

 _Turn out the lights  
Where we're going, we don't need 'em tonight  
We're at your daddy's home  
But he's not listening_

Zach's phone rings the following night and he already knows who it is and what it's about before he picks up. He doesn't bother with formalities, just sits bolt upright on the sofa and answers the call with a breathless, "Did you get it?"

"Fuck yes, I did."

" _Chris_. Oh, my _god_ , Chris!" Zach laughs sharply and pumps a victorious fist in the air, grinning when he hears Chris laugh on the other end. He's kind of dizzy with the emotion coursing through him—he can't remember ever feeling this happy for another person before. What has this man done to him, exactly? On the other hand, who really cares? He keeps talking, gesturing wildly with his free hand. "That's...congratulations! That's so amazing. You're going to be James T. fucking Kirk! We're going to be in it together!"

"Man, I can't imagine anything better in the world," Chris sighs. In the background, Zach can hear the telltale celebratory sounds of laughter and champagne pouring, glasses clinking together. He tilts his head and listens with a vague smile, thinking about Chris sneaking away from these well-deserved festivities, just to call Zach with the big news, and feeling sort of...fuzzy inside. He pushes his hair back and tries to concentrate on Chris' words. "I'm so fucking psyched. Everyone is. It's just...this is, by all accounts, the biggest thing that's _ever_ happened to me. And I couldn't have done it without you, Zach."

"Yes, you could have. It's nice of you to say, of course, but patently false." Zach quirks a smile and leans forward to grab the open bottle of Shiraz on the coffee table, pouring a new glass. "You'll just have to face the facts and admit that you're a talented beast. Part lumberjack, part twink, one-hundred percent actor."

"Hey, you're the twink," Chris huffs. Zach can hear him smiling on the other end.

"Good one. You sure I'm not keeping you from the confetti and champagne toast?"

"No, it's cool. We did all that. I couldn't wait a nanosecond longer to tell you." Zach hears footsteps as the background laughter fades and he can tell that Chris is moving out of the area where his family is. "I'm going somewhere more private."

"Bathroom?" Zach smirks, enjoying a brief but vivid memory of the day before.

"My old bedroom, actually."

"Hmm. Kinky."

"Oh, extremely. Especially the big _Say Anything_ poster."

" _Say Anything_? You giant dweeb."

" _Dweeb_? Who even says that word?"

Zach hears a small creak and imagines Chris falling back onto his bed. He imagines it must be a twin size, too small for the grown-up version of Chris. The sheets are probably green or blue, his favorite colors. Other than that, he has a hard time picturing the rest of the room. He knows all he's ever thought he's needed to know about Chris, but now he realizes that includes extremely little about his childhood. He knows how Chris takes his coffee, his favorite places to shop, his preferred position when he sleeps, the spots along his body that make him moan the loudest. But he doesn't know shit about what Chris studied in high school, his favorite movies (well, besides _Say Anything_ ), his extracurricular activities. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine objects: trophies, a basketball, posters, old magazines and notebooks. But they don't create a room; they just float in space. The posters just hang there, blank canvases. He furrows his brow, frustrated with his own ignorance on the subject.

Chris' voice gets louder and interrupts his thoughts. "Zach, you listening?"

"Yeah...sorry. What did you say?"

"I said, I'm alone, so you can start now."

"Start what, exactly?"

"Telling me all the things about me that you're missing. The things that make you hot...remember?"

 _You make me crazy when you talk like that  
I might go crazy when you talk like that  
You know I love it when you talk like that  
And girl, I'm crazy when you talk like that  
You make me crazy when you_

"Of course I remember." Zach smiles to himself and reclines on the sofa. He figures he might as well make himself comfortable if this is how things are going to go. But that doesn't mean he can't tease Chris a little. "I miss every little thing about you, darling Christopher."

"Oh, don't give me that crap," Chris says, laughing. "Gimme something I can use, here."

" _Use_? Don't tell me you're going to pleasure yourself on your childhood bed."

"Okay, I won't." Zach can hear Chris smirk and feels himself growing immediately hard at the very idea of him sprawled out on that twin-sized bed, feet dangling off the edges as he unzips his jeans and reaches inside them. He barely has time to swallow before Chris continues—a small lilt of satisfaction in his voice that lets Zach know the pleasuring process has already begun. "I won't tell you about how I'm imagining you here with me, the way you were dressed that first night in the club...holding me down, feeding me your beautiful cock 'til I'm gagging on it. I won't say one damn word."

Zach shudders, already balancing the phone between ear and shoulder as he goes for his own button fly. "Fuck, you know I love it when you talk like that."

"You like that, Zach...? The idea of you fucking me into the mattress I used to come on every night when I was a kid, thinking about all the teachers and football players I wanted to screw so badly? Owning me on my old bed?"

"You played football?" Zach whispers, fisting the base of his cock.

"Basketball. But I caught every fuckin' game, man. Those uniforms... _jesus_. Left little to my active imagination." Chris laughs shakily and Zach can picture exactly what he's doing, having seen it plenty of times in the past. He closes his eyes and imagines Chris' palm traveling along the underside of his cock—the guy loves to tease himself like that—then his fingers closing in a ring just beneath the head and squeezing with a slow stroke. He does the same things to his own cock without even realizing and thinks, _Basketball—I knew it_. He looks up again when Chris continues. "Tell me what you miss about me, Zach. You promised."

 _Our time has come  
Start of the race and we're ready to run  
We're on a roll tonight and you wont fight it_

"I know I did, babe." Zach slides his thumb over the slit of his cock and tries not to utter the noise his throat so desperately wants to release. He did promise, and he fully intends to follow through. He just has to stop touching himself for a half-second to get his thoughts in order. "I miss your fucking hot mouth. Those pillowy lips of yours...the way they feel against my ear, my chest, my balls. Miss the way you let me leave marks all over your inner thighs when you've got filming to do and I can't have your neck."

"Fuck if I'd give up your marks for anything," Chris whispers, his breath hitching. Zach wonders if he's spreading his legs at the mere thought of those love bites. He reaches down and caresses his balls, squeezing lightly.

"M-miss...how you spread your legs for me when I fucking _look_ at you a certain way. So damn willing..."

"Yeah..."

"Your jaw...miss biting your jaw 'til it's nearly bleeding. Miss how fucking tight you are when I bend you over the table or the bed." He twists his hand on his cock and grunts, bucking up into the sweaty circle of his fist. "That hot, tight ass, god...looks so good in the clothes I buy for you, those dark rinse jeans and those leather pants..."

"I wouldn't wear those for anyone but you," Chris says, in between shaky gasps. "Go on, you're on a roll..."

"Nuh-uh, you tell me something now, something hot." Zach bites his lip and forces himself to slow his movements, feeling his balls nearly clench as he steps back from the edge. "You go, your turn."

There's a moment or two of silence before Chris whispers, "A'ight," and a rustling sound of cloth tells Zach that he's probably rolled himself over, onto his stomach. He nearly keens at the idea of Chris splayed out like that, ass up in the air as if Zach were silently approaching. "Miss you pushing me against the wall and holding me there. Miss your fingers...s-stretching me."

Zach starts up his movements again, whispering at the same volume as Chris. "Miss the way you push down on my hand when you're ready for me."

"M'always ready for you, Zach, always... _need_ your cock..."

"You do, I know, you fucking love it." He speeds up now, knowing Chris is doing the same by the sound of his breathing. Zach pictures him grinding his hips down against the bed like a needy slut, maybe reaching back to touch his own entrance, and he nearly loses it right there. "Miss how...you start to huff and puff when you're close..."

"God, m'close, Zach," Chris whispers. It's like he's asking permission, and it's so true because his breath is coming in short, shallow gusts now, warm and damp down the receiver and against Zach's ear, and he wants nothing more in the world than to hear it.

"Don't fight it, Chris," Zach grits out. And just like that, he's rewarded with the telltale, reedy moan on the other end that Chris is obviously trying to muffle against the mattress, a pillow, his wrist, _something_. He knows that Chris is exploding all over his pristine childhood bed sheets and he can't fucking take it anymore; he needs to come more than anything. Zach pumps himself without mercy and drops his head back with a thump against the arm of the sofa, hissing out an "Oh, fuck, _Chris_ ," as he comes in heavy spurts across his stomach, wringing himself out with a demanding hand.

 _Don't like to see  
Send 'em a memo, talk cheap  
They ought to try some time, they might just like it_

"Goddamn it, now I gotta do laundry," Chris moans a few moments later. Zach muffles a laugh into his palm and shakes his head.

"Leave it. I'm sure your mom's used to it after all those teenage spills and thrills."

"You make it sound like I was going Jackson Pollack on my sheets every night."

"I didn't say that. But either way, I'm sure it's not anything she hasn't seen before."

"Stop turning my mom into the Grand Wizard of Semen Knowledge." Zach barks out a laugh loudly, unable to stop it this time, and that alone has Chris giggling, too. "Zach, I mean it!"

"'Grand Wizard of Semen'...? What is even going _on_ in that brain of yours, Chris Pine?"

"You don't want to know." Chris smirks and Zach hears him zipping up on the other end. He goes to do the same but then stops, deciding to be lazy for a little while longer. Chris makes some other noises, probably attempting to clean up. "My folks said you should feel free to come with me next time I visit them."

Zach blinks, lifting his head in surprise. "You...told them about me?"

"Yeah. Is that...is that a problem?"

"Ah...no. No. Just...surprising. Caught me off guard, that's all." Zach pushes back his hair and hopes he sounds as convincing as possible. Chris doesn't say anything, which makes him think this is one moment he can't act his way out of. "I just...never mind me, Chris. I'm sorry. I guess I just didn't think—"

"I do miss you, you know," Chris interrupts, his voice soft. "The way you wake up immediately every morning when the alarm goes off, when I'm used to hitting snooze at least three times. And how you eat your meals one part at a time—main dish first, then the sides—oh, and that purple velour bathrobe you love so much. And all your annoying little post-it notes on everything..."

"'Cause you'll eat everything otherwise," Zach whispers, feeling strangely entranced.

"I know; I'm mean." Chris exhales. "And the way you keep everything in the medicine cabinet so nice and neat, and yet you never manage to remember to throw out your used floss and I always find it on the sink in a little jumbled heap...fuckin' disgusting, man." He laughs faintly and Zach squints. His heart feels like it's about to jump ship from a flaming wreck.

"Chris, you've only been gone for a day. You're scaring me a little, here," he says, trying to keep it as lighthearted as possible.

"Yeah, well, that's what I'm saying."

He pauses and Zach knows he's waiting for him to say something here, to fill in the gap somehow, but his throat feels thick and wadded with cotton and he just doesn't know how to do this, doesn't know if he wants to. He could say so many things and pretend to mean them; he's afraid of getting them confused with the things he does mean.

"All right, I didn't mean to get all heavy on you," Chris finally says. "I guess I'm just feeling emotional tonight. You know, with the big news." Zach exhales and nods to himself. If there's a hint of disappointment to Chris' voice, it doesn't make an appearance. He's a very talented actor, after all.

"Don't worry about it. I'll just...see you soon, okay? Have fun with your family, and..." Zach shakes his head, waving a hand in the air as if to say to himself, _Why not?_ "Tell them I might take them up on their offer some time."

"Yeah?" Zach knows Chris is smiling now, and he stubbornly tries to keep a poker face despite the blatant show of cheerfulness. "Okay, sure. You know, you might just like it."

"Go do laundry," Zach huffs, then adds, "Mister Kirk."

" _Captain_ Kirk to you, Mister Spock."

Chris hangs up first.

 _You make me crazy when you talk like that  
I might go crazy when you talk like that  
A little scary when you talk like that  
But kid, I love it when you talk like that  
You make me crazy when you—_

 **IV. Yippiyo-ay**

 _Am I pleased to meet ya  
Picture from the people  
Something I got to teach ya_

And, just like that, Chris is a star.

He knows it for sure when he wakes up one morning and spots a group of paparazzi outside his place, eagerly taking photos of him as he goes to fetch an iced coffee. A couple of them follow him all the way to the café and back. Chris can't imagine what could possibly be so fascinating about the sight of him walking down the street, but to each his own, he figures. He slurps his coffee through a straw and offers the shutterbugs a small wave before slipping back into his building. _That was bizarre_ , he thinks.

When they're back the very next day, he gives Zach a call.

"This is starting to weird me out," he says, peering through his kitchen window curtains. The photographers are just milling around, shooting the shit as they wait for an appearance. "Who in the world would ever be interested in photos of me procuring and drinking my morning beverage?"

Zach smirks on the other end of the line. "Frappuccino or iced mocha, Chris? The world breathlessly awaits the answer."

"Eww, neither. Just plain iced coffee with milk, you know that."

"Well, _I_ do, but no one else does. But soon, they will." Zach sighs, sounding way more nonchalant than Chris would prefer. "People love that 'slice of life' shit, Chris. All these little bullshit personal details and photos of you walking around town...they eat it up."

"I don't see why." Chris hears his toast pop up, slightly burnt—just the way he likes it—and goes about pouring himself a cup of the coffee he just brewed. He doesn't quite feel like going out for his morning joe today. "I don't know how you can be so calm and rational about something so deranged. I should be the only one who knows that you take your coffee with soy milk and two Splendas...which are gross, by the way."

"I'm aware of your opinions on artificial sweeteners, Christopher, thank you." Zach takes a bite of something that sounds crunchy to Chris' ears, which reminds him to set about spreading peanut butter on his toast. He exhales, fetching a knife as Zach continues. "You'll get used to it, I promise. They're just like gnats after a while; you learn to wave them away and ignore them."

"What? Gnats are annoying as fuck. Bad simile."

"My sincere apologies; it's a bit early for any of the gems in my simile arsenal. I promise to dazzle you with my metaphorical mastery at a later time and date."

 _You're quite the creature  
Girl from the creature feature  
Tasty, like to eat ya_

Chris smiles, biting into his toast and licking a smear of peanut butter from his lips. Zach is especially sexy when he speaks as though he just swallowed a thesaurus. "I'm just going to hide out at yours from now on, man. Like old times."

"No, you can't," Zach immediately says. Chris furrows his brow at the refusal. "You don't think they're camping out here, too? You're not the only star of this movie. They can't catch you coming out of my place every morning, it'll look like—"

"Exactly what it is?" Chris laughs, but it's mirthless. He stares at his toast and thinks to himself that Zach never did take his parents up on their offer to visit. He rolls his eyes when he hears Zach sigh.

"Come on, Chris. We all have to make sacrifices. I've stopped going to the clubs altogether, personally. You never know who's going to be there with a hidden camera in their back pocket, ready to send off footage to TMZ."

"I wouldn't exactly equate spending time with each other to going to gay dance clubs to pick up guys, but yeah, no, I get it, man." Chris tries to keep the icy chill he feels running up and down his spine completely out of his voice, but Zach knows him too well and he sighs again. "No, really. I do. I'm not as stupid as I look, honestly."

"You don't look stupid at all. You look like a hunky Hollywood _dreamboat_ and I don't want to be the one who ruins that for you."

Chris doesn't quite know what to say to that, so he just munches on his toast instead. Zach starts eating again as well, and they just spend the next few minutes like that, listening to each other chew and swallow.

"What are you eating?" Chris finally asks.

"Cocoa Puffs," Zach says, sounding guilty. Chris can't help but snicker.

"What happened to that Kashi tree bark shit you usually eat?"

"Even tree-huggers like sugary cereal sometimes." Zach keeps chewing, a bit quieter now, and Chris hopes like hell that he's blushing. They let another moment of silence slip by, and then: "I didn't mean that you should stop coming over altogether. Just maybe...not as often. Now that they're watching you."

"Yeah," Chris says softly. "Just sometimes."

"Yeah. And...hell, when we start promoting the damn thing, we'll be spending practically all of our time together anyway. And no one will know if we're sharing a hotel room besides the rest of the cast, and we know we can trust them."

"They're great," Chris agrees. He finishes his toast and washes it down with a sip of coffee. "You're right. As always."

"As always," Zach repeats. Chris forgoes the opportunity to make a crack about Zach's immodesty and gets up, tossing his now empty plate into the sink. He gulps down the last of his coffee and exhales.

"So, what do you say, can I come over?" he asks, cheerfully. Zach laughs.

"Yeah, sure. But shower first; America doesn't need the Queer Lumberjack splashed all over the cover of _Us Weekly_ , bringing everyone down. We _are_ in a war, after all."

"You fucking slay me. Don't make me trade your pleather pants for some privacy from the paps."

"Look at you, turning on your friends already. Are you Hollywood, or what?"

Chris goes to the bathroom, pausing to lean against the doorway. "Or what. For now. See you soon, _friend_."

"Until then, you beautiful creature."

Chris opens his mouth to reply but Zach hangs up before he can—which is good, because he has absolutely no idea what he was going to say.

 _Look, we're ready to rumble  
Girlfriend, can you show me  
The way that the cookie crumbles_

Chris finds himself absolutely dizzied by the sheer amount of promotion they have to do for this film: morning shows, late-night talk shows, web broadcasts, web promos, radio interviews, Japanese game shows, junkets, conventions, and the list just goes on. Most days he wakes up and has no idea what country he's in, let alone which hotel. But Zach is a constant, whether Chris wakes with his arms wrapped around the older man or vice versa, or they find themselves in a tub full of dirty bath water gone cold, their fingertips and toes all wrinkly. They usually wake up—Zach rising immediately as usual, while Chris grumbles and rolls around in the covers before being coerced out of bed—and order breakfast from room service, then help each other pick out their clothes for the day. Chris often lets Zach dress him in ties, knowing he'll be on his knees later on, being led around by the same narrow strip of fabric.

"Fuck," he mumbles into his pillow one morning, feeling particularly sore around the collar. "Gotta wear a fuckin' turtleneck today 'cause of you."

"I didn't hear you complaining last night." Zach presses a kiss between his shoulder blades and sweeps a hand down his side. Chris sighs, feeling Zach's gaze burn into him, likely appraising the bruises. "They suit you," he whispers. "Like pink ribbons wrapped around a gift."

Chris hides his face, knowing he's blushing. "Pick out something nice for me," he says, his voice slightly muffled by the pillow.

"I will. Hey. Look at me." Chris turns his head to regard Zach and closes his eyes when their lips meet. A moment later, Zach is looking at him intensely and Chris is almost positive he knows what Zach is going to say until he hears, "What do you want for breakfast?"

"Um...waffles. And coffee."

"The coffee is a given," Zach says, sitting up and reaching for the phone. Chris frowns slightly at his back. After breakfast arrives and they eat, they shower separately and set about dressing each other. Zach looks disappointed at having to choose a turtleneck rather than a tie, but he does what must be done. When they're finished, he claps his hands and announces, "Yippiyo-ay. Ready to rumble?" and Chris once again finds himself making the long march to the hotel elevator, facing down the start of another long day.

"Yippiyo- _who_?" he chides, nudging Zach's side.

He finds that he's getting tired of this; all of this.

 _Girl, got to eat ya  
Cooking, I got to T-bone  
Hungry, I need to feed her_

 _Thinking so nasty  
Just got me feeling so nasty_

It starts innocently enough. They're all enjoying the best of what their hotel bar has to offer—it's a Hilton, though hell if Chris can remember the city attached to the name—and he turns to look across the room when he feels the weight of someone's stare on the nape of his neck. His brain is fried from endless rounds of interviews all day long; most of them were spent bantering with Zach, which is never disagreeable. But sometimes the questions get repetitive, which leads to the answers getting repetitive and eventually, Chris' easy jokes and riffs sound less and less believable to even his own ears.

She's a brunette with auburn highlights, noticeable cheekbones and full lips, and when she smiles at him, it's like a gust of cool air hitting his face.

Karl nudges his side just as he's about to smile back, nodding toward the bartender. "You want another?"

"Huh?" Chris whips his head around, blinking owlishly at him.

"I'm ordering another round. If you want in, speak now before the offer is permanently rescinded, never to return."

"Oh, yeah. Why not?" Chris nods and steals another glance at the girl, who's now sipping her drink through a straw, looking elsewhere with a bored stance. He barely notices the newly opened beer and shot of whisky placed before him on the bar top. "What's with the sudden generosity?"

"Not a clue. Especially since you're ignoring me. What's got you all distracted?"

Karl lifts his shot as a cue to Chris, and they quickly down them together. Chris exhales harshly at the burn which Karl seems to simply shrug off, flicking back his hair as it falls from its previously gelled-back state.

"That girl is looking at me," Chris says. He motions to the brunette down by the other end of the bar. Karl cranes his head to look at her and smirks.

"No, she's not."

"Well, she _was_." Chris takes a swallow of beer, keeping his gaze on the woman. "She's cute, huh? Not that much make-up, but still pretty. I like that."

"Uh, you like _Zach_ , last I heard. What about that?"

"Well," Chris says, picking at the label of his bottle. He thinks back to the day before the press tour started, of Zach rolling over in bed to face him and bringing up the fact that there'd be lots of starfuckers along the way, some obvious and some in disguise.

"It's not like I'm going to do anything with them," Chris said to him, and Zach smiled, looking pleased and disinterested all at once.

"I wouldn't deprive you of the movie star experience," he replied, and then shrugged one shoulder. "It's like being the killer whale at the aquarium. You're hungry, they expect you to be hungry—so they feed you."

"Are you calling me fat?" Chris smirked. Zach rolled his eyes

"Yes. I'm going to start calling you 'Shamu' when I come." Zach threw his head back, moaning loudly. "Oh, god, fuck me, Shamu!"

It was then that Chris rolled over and beached himself on top of Zach's form, lying like a dead fish. Zach laughed and wriggled beneath him.

The memory is bittersweet for Chris, now. He shrugs and looks down to the opposite end of the bar, spying Zach chatting with John in a rather lascivious manner. He's willing to bet that Zach wishes John weren't so attached to that wedding ring of his. "What about it?" he says, finally answering Karl. "I don't think he'll mind."

"You sure about that, Chris? The man seems pretty attached to you."

Chris decides to ignore that, slipping off the barstool. Lately he's been getting anything but "attached" vibes from Zach. Sure, he's affectionate when it's convenient for him, but hell, Chris can admit the truth to himself: permission to fuck other people was not at _all_ what he wanted from Zach. Luckily, Chris has always been adept at working with the hand he's been dealt. He pats Karl's shoulder. "When a lady's going hungry, someone needs to feed her," he says.

Karl wrinkles his nose. "Is that some kind of American euphemism I'm not familiar with? Because I don't want to picture you feeding anything of yours to anyone."

Chris has to laugh at least a little at that. "Thanks for the drink," he says, and makes his way down the bar to the brunette. When he taps her on the shoulder, she looks up at him with a sparkle in her eye that negates any feigned surprise at his appearance. They nod to each other and he sips his beer before he speaks. "You need a refill?"

"Not for a few minutes yet, but you can entertain me until then."

"Good deal," he says, leaning his hip against the bar as he falls into an easy conversation. When he pays for her next drink, he looks up and locks eyes with Zach's dark gaze; he doesn't exactly look pleased, but Chris has difficulty reading his expression nonetheless. He hands his cash to the bartender and rests a hand on the back of the girl's barstool as she sips the new drink, keeping unwavering eyes on the dark-haired man at the other end of the bar. Zach nods faintly at the gesture and turns back to John; Chris lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

By the time she invites him up to her room, Zach has left the bar area. Chris takes her hand and looks for him again, as if to ask silent permission when he finds him, but he supposes that's unnecessary now. He's up to his eyeballs in a sea of hungry fish, after all, and he already has permission, from one underwater predator to another.

 _Keep it rocking, baby, don't try to hide it, no  
Give me something and I won't try to fight it, no  
All the troubles in my mind, they don't feel so bad  
When you got me in your palm, sliding in your hands_

He and Zach never talk about it, and given their silence, the rest of their cast mates leave it alone from that point forward, as well. Once in a while, Chris will start chatting up a pretty blond or redhead—hell, once he picked up a girl with blue and pink hair, he's not picky—and he'll get a signature raised eyebrow from Karl across the room, but he's learned to ignore it. Karl knows damn well it's none of his business, and if it's not affecting Zach's demeanor, their friends have no reason to be concerned.

Still, he wishes it would affect Zach, at least a little. He feels the sting clearly one morning at breakfast, when Zoe passes around a tabloid rag featuring many photos of one debonair Chris Pine cozying up to Insert Random Girl's Name Here. Zach grabs it from Anton's hands, looking it over and laughing loudly. He lifts a hand and lets his wrist flop forward, calling forth an entirely fey accent.

"Ooh, _guuurl_ , that Chris Pine is such a fiiiiine piece o' man candy. How can ah _get_ wit' him?" he mocks. Everyone laughs, even Zoe, though she reaches out and shoves Zach's arm for good measure. Karl snickers but shakes his head in a way that lets Chris know he disapproves of these shenanigans, all jokes and slutting around included.

"Shut up," Chris says, tugging the magazine out of Zach's grip. He shoves a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth with his other hand as he scrutinizes the photos, and hopes like hell that he isn't blushing. It's not really the teasing that bothers him so much as Zach's blasé reaction, his unfunny and unnecessary remark, but he can pretend. "They didn't even get my good side," he mutters. It's the most noncommittal, lighthearted comment he can think of, at the moment. It makes John and Simon laugh, anyway.

Zach keeps his eyes on his bowl of organic granola and doesn't say anything else about it. As the conversation moves on, Chris squints closely at the magazine and decides he looks incredibly drunk.

"Pay attention, Mr. Vain," Zoe finally snaps, snatching it back.

Chris soon makes his pick-ups a nightly ritual and no one says anything about it, which Chris prefers, because it's nobody's business but his own. He never tries to speak to Zach about it, mainly because he's afraid of what he might say. He doesn't want things to be over with Zach, but the daily spells of silence and willful ignorance of the situation seem to propel him toward the drinks and the nameless, faceless women (and now, often, men—he knows it's dangerous, risking being seen with them, but after a few shots of whisky, he finds he couldn't care less). He doesn't want Zach to look him in the eye and tell him he's had enough, especially since Zach practically gave him his blessing.

The thing is, he's running on empty. And when comfort comes along, when someone is willing to keep him in the palm of his hand, he's never been one to fight it.

 _When you wear a smile  
When you rock a frown  
When you throw one off  
When you coming 'round_

Tonight, she's strawberry blond and sports a gleaming, Crest Kid-worthy smile that's just crooked enough to make Chris' toes tingle. She lets him buy her a few drinks and then toys with the buttons on his shirt, slipping something into his back pocket. "Room 406," she whispers as she pulls away, disappearing into the swell of the crowded room. Chris examines the gifted items after she leaves, making sure to hold them under the bar, out of public view: a key card to her hotel room and a small plastic bag filled more than halfway with white powder.

"Huh," he says to himself. He pockets the items again and makes his way to the restroom.

He's locked himself in a stall and is regarding the baggie when familiar voices enter the room. One has an unmistakable accent and the other, he'd recognize anywhere.

"So it doesn't bother you that he's never around lately?" Simon asks, as he moves toward a urinal. "We barely see him at all these days."

"He's getting out his male aggressions." Chris can detect the smirk in Zach's voice and he leans forward to hear him better. "I had a feeling he'd want to explore the perks of his newfound celebrity a bit. It's only natural."

"Forgive me if I'm being overly, ehm...honest, here. But I could have sworn he was head over heels for _you_. And maybe...vice versa?"

Zach exhales and Chris purses his lips, waiting for the reply. "I do care deeply for Chris, yes. And therefore...I just want him to do whatever makes him happy."

Chris frowns deeply, clutching the baggie tightly in his palm, feeling the plastic go warm. He furrows his brow and suppresses the urge to burst out of the stall, screaming, _Fuck you, Zach, fuck you, you fucking fucker, fuck you FUCK YOU._

Simon zips up and goes to wash his hands. "And how are you sure all this sleeping around is making him happy?"

"I'm not," Zach admits. Chris listens to his footfalls as he moves to the sink as well. "But I take his constant absence from our room as a sign that he's at least having a good time."

"Most likely. I saw he caught quite a pretty one tonight."

"Chris can have anyone he wants," Zach says, as he walks out of the restroom with Simon, his voice drifting. "That much has always been..."

The door closes and Chris sits in frustrated silence for a few moments before undoing his belt and opening his trousers. He pushes the fabric down to his knees and forms thin, white lines of powder on the tanned skin of his thigh, bending nearly in half to sniff each one quickly into one open nostril as he presses the other closed. When he lifts his head again, his vision seems clearer, as does his mind. He pockets the leftovers and zips up, rubbing the room key between his clammy palms.

The smiley blonde is happy to see him, and the feeling is mutual, at first. Chris only manages to go down on her once before he's forced to excuse himself, however, begging off with the excuse of a massive headache. She frowns at him, no doubt disappointed by this outcome, but lets him go without a fight and—to Chris' quiet delight—without asking for the remainder of her blow. She did seem pretty pleased with her orgasm, so he supposes she might consider it a fair trade; he'd say she got gypped, but that's him.

He finds himself standing in front of Zach's hotel room—his room, too, if his disheveled suitcase lying on the floor inside is any indication—not knowing how the hell he got from point A to point B. The important thing, he supposes, is that he's here. His room key is on his person somewhere, but he feels daunted by the process of seeking it out and just knocks insistently instead. Zach opens the door in a tank top and boxer briefs and Chris' senses are so well-wired and electric right then that he can smell the familiar scent of his lover just with one waft of air from the room, permeating his olfactory nerves and his entire system. He can feel a light sheen of sweat bloom over the expanse of his brow.

Zach looks sleep-mussed but aware. "Hello, stranger," he murmurs, and his eyebrows lift dramatically when Chris reaches out to touch his long-missed mouth. He circles his fingers around Chris' wrist. "Hold up. You're tweaking. Aren't you?"

"Please fuck me, Zach," Chris whispers. His fingers are acting on their own, tracing the planes of Zach's face, attempting to regain all those gorgeous, lapsed memories. _Whatever makes me happy. Don't you fucking know?_ "I would be ever so elated."

"Christopher," Zach sighs, slightly admonishing, but he keeps his eyes on him as he sucks a fingertip into his mouth. He tugs Chris forward by his shirt just so, and their foreheads lightly bump together. If Zach minds the sweat, he doesn't say anything; he just pulls Chris into the room and steers him toward the bed, stripping him of the outfit that, for once, he didn't choose. Chris mentally likens the return of Zach's knowing touch to coming back to a home-cooked meal—hell, coming _home_ is more like it. Here, he knows he's in good hands. He falls back onto the mattress and arches with every caress, vaguely wondering how many kisses, how many moans, sighs and gasps it will take to show Zach that here, right here, he's happy.

 _When I'm feeling bad  
When I'm feeling sad  
Oh, it ain't so bad  
When I'm in your hands_

 **V. If I Know You**

 _Clever liar, fooling us all  
Never thought I'd work it out  
How could I have known it was ever about you, boy?_

When Zach finally breaks, it surprises him more than anyone else.

He thought he was fine with it—standing idly by as Chris blows off steam with every available slut he comes across. At first, he truly was; it doesn't even occur to him to feel bad about it until the morning after Chris breaks his random sex streak for the first time and shows up at their room, high out of his mind. Zach fucks Chris because he asks for it and, okay, maybe he has missed him. A few hours later, Chris snoozes steadily through the alarm, allowing Zach time to shower, dress and prepare a tall glass of ice water for his sleeping beauty. He sits on the edge of the bed and shakes Chris' shoulder in what he hopes is a firm but gentle motion.

"Huh, wha...?" Chris lifts his head blearily and licks his lips, blinking in surprise when Zach presents him with the ice water. "Hey...hey." He smiles and takes the glass, gulping half of it down. Zach tries not to look at the undulating motion of his throat.

"I let you sleep for as long as I could, but we've got an interview in forty-five minutes," Zach says, shrugging.

"Oh, man," Chris groans. He presses his face to the pillow. "Can't Karl go in my place?"

"Afraid not." The sheets are bunched around the tops of Chris' thighs, leaving his torso and backside completely exposed. Zach seizes the irresistible opportunity to pat his ass, and he knows Chris must be tired because he just pouts and whines instead of making a snarky comment. "Come on, killer. Up and at 'em."

"I hate you," Chris huffs, sitting up and scratching at his neck and scalp.

"I know," Zach says. He watches silently as Chris finishes the rest of the water with a satisfied sigh after the last swallow. His fingers move to unconsciously undo his top shirt button before fixing it again. "But, y'know," he starts without thinking, "if not for me, you'd have spent the whole night twitching in one of the hotel restrooms."

"Well, that's why you're my hero," Chris replies, and Zach detects a sarcastic edge to his voice that wasn't there before. "I got here on my own, didn't I? And I came because I wanted to, I..." He places the glass on the nightstand and exhales. "It's not like I didn't have another offer on the table."

Zach purses his lips. He's nobody's fool. Except maybe he is; maybe he's Chris' fool, since he brought him into the room last night and fucked—oh, fine, _made love_ to him, because he actually missed the asshole and wanted to be near him. It had been so long. But Chris was just bored, wasn't he, and Zach totally let himself be pulled into the nightly ritual of indecision leading to one-night stands that don't mean anything. And of course they don't—Chris is a big star now; nothing in his life has to mean anything. Zach recognizes that feeling all too well and he can see it eating away at the Chris he knows and loves, pulling him away from Zach, little by little. He's pissed at Chris for letting it happen, pissed at himself for saying he was fine with it. The whole thing scratches at his insides and fuck it if he feels like being a little argumentative.

"I guess even Chris Pine can get bored, spending night after night perusing the pussy smorgasbord."

Chris, probably because he's exhausted, doesn't say anything. He simply pushes the bed sheets aside and gets up, heading for the bathroom. "You save me a towel?" he grunts.

"Of course," Zach says. The somewhat silent treatment makes him feel slightly remorseful. It's not right being with Chris if they can't rag on each other. He leans sideways to catch sight of Chris in the bathroom, turning on the shower taps. "You coming back here tonight?"

"I'll see how I feel," he says, blandly. He shuts the door with a loud bang.

Zach shuts his eyes and lies back on the bed, listening to the water for a few minutes and willing the sudden knots of tension in his shoulders to disappear. He reaches for the TV remote and reminds himself to keep it together. It's not his fault, he reasons. How could he have known?

 _Now there's nothing to say, 'cause there's no words  
And we're not talking anyhow  
You must have known I was never to doubt you, boy_

If he stops and really thinks about it, he can see he's been splintering for a long time. Zach knows everyone is abuzz about the scene in the film in which Spock chokes Kirk on the bridge in front of everyone; he understands that all the fan girls with active imaginations are going crazy with a scenario that might as well have been penned with their own ink. And yeah, that was a really hot scene to shoot, and Zach certainly didn't hesitate to reenact it later on with Chris in his trailer. He almost blushed the next day when J.J. made an offhand comment of "Next time, lay off the Wheaties before shooting, Quinto," but decided to smirk instead and let Chris don the rosy cheeks for him.

The most difficult scene, he remembers clearly, was the one where he's forced to accuse Chris—Cadet Kirk—of cheating on the Kobayashi Maru. There was something incredibly unsettling about calling him out in front of a room full of people, meeting the task of dragging someone's good name through the dirt—someone he cares about. Of course, it was just acting, and Zach's not good at anything if he's not good at acting. But it drained him, standing there stiff as a board and channeling the cold intensity that might allow him to dredge up the memory of a dead father and spit on it without a second thought. He knows the feeling, after all. And Chris' reaction as Kirk was so spot-on, so skillfully perfect, that he almost felt as though he were stabbing the knife in his lover's back instead. As soon as J.J. yelled "cut" and the cameras stopped rolling, he looked down at the podium before which he stood, grasping its edges in order to stop his hands from trembling. He found he couldn't look directly at Chris at all.

Chris found him during a break and steered him somewhere private, reaching up automatically to massage the nape of Zach's neck. Zach sagged and hoped it was enough to show how grateful he was for the touch. "Hey, you with me, here?" Chris whispered.

"Yeah...I dunno." He looked up at Chris then, into his crystalline eyes, and felt a surge of fear at how lost he could get in this man. "I'm sorry, Chris," he murmured.

"Zach, it was just a scene. You don't have to apologize. Spock nailed Kirk out there, it wasn't _you_ grilling _me_."

Zach shook his head, not quite knowing how to explain. For once in his life, there were no words, and if they existed, he didn't recognize or understand them; they were words he'd never needed in his arsenal, that it had been in his best interest to ignore. "It's just...a difficult dialogue," he said, thickly.

"I know. Listen, I have to go shoot this quick thing...we'll talk more later, okay?"

Zach nodded and cast his eyes down, exhaling softly when Chris squeezed him lightly, the crook between his shoulder and the slope of his neck—almost like a Vulcan nerve pinch, but Zach remained standing. In fact, he stood a bit taller.

When Chris knocked on his trailer door that evening, Zach ushered him in quickly, smoothing his hands immediately over his chest and down his sides, fingering the worn fabric of his T-shirt. Chris reached up and touched his jaw, and Zach almost flinched because it was so damn gentle, gentler than any touch Chris had ever given him. He was treating Zach like a fragile porcelain doll and it made him want to simultaneously shudder with sobs and run for his life. It made him want to surrender.

"I know," Chris whispered, tracing Zach's cheekbone. "Your dad."

"It's not just that," Zach said quickly, shaking his head.

"But this is...will you tell me what this is?"

"We're not talking," Zach murmured. He reached up to clasp the back of Chris' head and brought him closer, invading his warm mouth with the unfurling of his tongue. Any hint of frustration or annoyance on Chris' part was replaced by his strong hands on Zach's biceps, his hips, his thighs, and he was once again grateful. He could talk circles around anyone on most days, but it was the last thing he wanted just then, because putting feelings and desires into words made them real and that simply was not in the cards.

In a mere couple of minutes, Chris' back hit the wall and he gaped down at Zach as he sank to his knees. It was the first time Zach had offered this, let alone even brought it up as a possibility. Chris never asked for it, which had always pleased Zach; now he wondered if that was a bad thing.

"Zach," Chris whispered, and his voice was hoarse, a ghost of itself. He touched Zach's hair gingerly, barely knowing what to do with his hands as Zach's moved quickly to undo buttons, pull down a zipper, tug and grasp at what was in the way.

"Not for anyone but you," he said, and then lowered his head. He had memorized the taste of Chris by then, and recognized it so well as it danced upon his tongue, intensified a hundred times by the heat and sweat and need that radiated from his tight, darkened skin. When he dared to look up at Chris, he had the expression of a young boy receiving his very first, and Zach hummed with the pleasure of knowing he could place that look on his face. Even after it was over, he found himself mouthing and nuzzling at Chris' cock and inner thighs, unable to digest the mere thought that he might have to leave this place. At that moment, he would have followed Chris anywhere he dared to travel, wouldn't have denied him anything or doubted a single word he uttered.

He felt the splintering begin, then, and was stupid enough to think he could ignore it.

 _If it was so fine, it was so good  
Oh, you're unbelievable  
All this time, I've been living without you, boy  
But not your lying  
It felt so good, the world don't know  
Now they'll never find out_

Chris not only fails to show up that night, but also the following night, and the night after that. They're doing this ridiculously long convention that seems to be endless, and they've all started referring to the hotel as "home," which is never a good sign. Chris arrives at all of his panels and interviews looking dreadfully tired, but as soon as the invisible cameras start rolling, he radiates nothing but sunshine. Zach secretly envies his ability to turn around situations like that, to draw people in as well as Chris does, even when he's exhausted, withdrawn and at his worst. He's simply a magnetic person.

Zach sits in a booth by the bar on his own, fingers steepled together in front of his face, and wonders how he can pick up some of that magnetism to draw Chris back to his— _their_ room. Chris is sitting on a stool, laughing it up with Anton and Eric, and Zach just watches with narrowed eyes, finding himself unable to focus on anything else.

"Penny for your thoughts," Zoe says, sliding into the booth beside him. "Or a nickel. I can afford it nowadays."

"Mmm, you are a woman of means." Zach looks at her and smiles, adjusting his glasses. "Nothing, really. Just wondering."

"About Chris and when he's going to contract Chlamydia?" She flicks her hair back and Zach considers himself glad he wasn't just drinking; his vodka tonic would be splattered all over the table now.

"Sort of," he concedes, unable to keep from laughing, just a little.

"I'm worried about him," she says, frowning. "Karl and I were talking earlier about how he either shows up every day looking burnt out or hungover. And, yes, he turns on as soon as the action starts, but it can't be good for him." She sips at her cocktail—a cosmopolitan, it looks like—and nods to him. "You need to start watching over him."

"Me? How can I watch over him when he won't even come to our room at night?"

"You mean he doesn't come back after his little romps? Shiiiit," she drawls, in her distinct Queens accent. "He's running himself into the ground, Zach. He can't go on like this. You need to fix what you broke."

Zach barely resists the urge to scowl at her. "And how do you know that I broke something? I didn't break _anything_."

Zoe puts her glass down on the table and sighs, looking at him plainly. "Because for as long as I've known Chris, he's never looked forward to anything more, at the end of the day, than going home to you."

 _Ouch_ , Zach thinks, and slugs back the rest of his drink.

"I can live without him," he says after he swallows, but too quickly, and his throat burns. "I lived without him before...survived that somehow, didn't I?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Chris' form moving across the room. It appears the rousing conversation with Anton and Eric is ancient history and he's been romancing a slightly too-skinny girl with chestnut brown hair. The courtship must be over as quickly as it started, as they're leaving the bar area, hand in hand. Zach curls his fingers around his glass and bites his tongue hard.

"But it felt good with him, didn't it?" Zoe asks. Her voice has become more patient, suddenly, and Zach wants to turn and ask if she just saw what he saw, but he doesn't because he already knows. He keeps his eyes on the rim of his glass, empty now save for half-melted ice cubes, and dripping on the outside with condensation.

"It did," he concedes. He hesitates. "It does. You don't even know."

"I bet I don't."

 _Don't forget that I  
Was the one that you found  
And if I know you  
You'll find me someplace new  
I hope I never, I hope I never have to_

 _We're a waste of time  
And if I know you  
Learned long ago, it's true  
I hope I never, I hope I never have to_

Zach's alarm goes off the next morning and he turns to rest his hand against the untouched half of the bed. In the hazy, lingering moments between sleep and wakefulness, he thinks back to one of the last days of filming, when he returned to his trailer and found Chris inside, fully clothed and curled up in the relatively small bed, sleeping on his side. Zach wasn't able to help himself; he shucked off his costume and crawled into bed behind Chris, spooning him and cupping his crotch through his jeans, palming him lazily. Soon enough, Chris found his way back to consciousness, moaning and reaching behind him to touch Zach's side, discovering a distinct lack of clothes.

"You're naked," he murmured, with a faint sound of surprise. Zach laughed softly, kissing the crook of his neck.

"Completely, yes. And all pressed against you, stud."

"That's awesome," Chris said, sounding slightly more breathless now. He turned his head to kiss Zach deeply, unaware of the hand unzipping his fly until its sneaky fingers were wrapped around his cock, stroking him to hardness. Zach took his time, devouring every gorgeous little gasp and stutter that spilled from Chris' mouth into his own. He was the one to whimper when Chris raised his hand to caress his ear, still red and sensitive from the removal of the prosthetic. Even half-asleep, Chris still knew which buttons to push, the tricky bastard. Zach retaliated by teasing the head of his cock and barely touching the pronounced vein along his shaft, quickly bringing Chris to the brink, and there were those telltale huffs and puffs he'd come to know and love so much, before Chris was groaning, spilling all over his stomach and hips.

The sight of Chris lying in his bed looking completely debauched—shirt rucked up to his chest and fly open, with sticky trails drying on the flat expanse of his stomach—was enough to get Zach grinding his own hips into the mattress. Chris licked his lips and immediately moved down the bed to take Zach into his mouth, spurred on by Zach's fingers petting his short, bristly hair; his soft, encouraging whispers of "yes" and "perfect" when Chris swirled his tongue in that finessed method of his.

After Zach had his turn, Chris joined him in his nudity and curled close to him on the bed. Zach's first reaction to the warm feeling of contentment that threatened to flood through him was to suppress it immediately, but this time, he found he enjoyed the slow burn. Chris tightened his grip on Zach just so and exhaled.

"Can't believe it's almost over," he whispered. Zach looked down to find that Chris' gaze was already on him. "This has been...in all seriousness, the best time of my life."

"I know what you mean." Zach smiled and shrugged one shoulder. "But, don't worry, J.J. is a genius; the movie will be a huge hit and they'll be signing us all up for a sequel in no time. And then we'll do it all over again."

"I'm sure you're right. But I guess I also mean...my time with you." Chris dropped a kiss to his shoulder and Zach felt himself flush. "Getting to star in a film with you has just been, like...the cherry on top of everything."

"Well," Zach started, his voice lowering with his own embarrassment that seemed to come out of nowhere, "Lucky for you that I convinced you to try out for that part."

Chris grinned. "Lucky for me that you picked me up in that club." Zach laughed suddenly, shoving his shoulder.

"Hey! Don't forget that _you_ found _me_ , you punk kid. Making eyes at me in your Brawny Man clothes."

"You were dancing in a _cage_ , man! I couldn't look away! You ensnared me with your snake-charmer hip thrusts! Not to mention your ass shaking— _hey_!"

Chris dissolved into laughter as Zach tickled his side, both men getting tangled in the sheets. They rolled around until Zach had Chris pinned on his back; he knew Chris could overpower him if he wanted to, especially after all the physical training he'd done for this film, so Zach couldn't help but smile at the way he pretended to lie helpless beneath him, wiggling his fingers.

"You adore my ass shaking," Zach stated. Chris nodded quickly.

"I do. It was love at first shake. First shimmy." Chris bit his lip then, and before Zach could even compute what had just been said, the younger man started talking again. "Anyway, whatever. If you didn't find me there—or the other way around—it would have been somewhere else. I'd find you anywhere, I think."

"You would," Zach agreed, and at that point, the words had seeped in fully. The moment to return them, however, had fled, thanks to Chris' distraction efforts. They'd worked; Zach kissed Chris and soon, they easily sank into another round of slow, lazy sex.

Zach opens his eyes now to the sunlight filtering into the hotel room, streaking over the king-sized mattress and across his forehead. The bed isn't going to get any less empty even if he wills it to, he reasons, and he sits up, bunching the sheets in his fists, creating creases in the fabric where they weren't before.

"Waste of time," he says aloud. Then he pauses, thinking over his declaration, reconsidering. Finally, he gives up on the train of thought and heads to the bathroom; he might want to take it back, but he won't give the room the satisfaction of hearing it.

 _Go and explain, explain it again, boy, that this all started  
Found you lying in the arms of another girl  
Stop your crying  
Day after day, year after year  
Far too long it lasted  
You must have thought I was nothing without you, boy_

The sound of the break isn't anything like a branch snapping from its tree; it starts with the quiet whir and click of Zach's door key as he sinks it into the slot of the lock. Zach barely registers the green light before pushing the door open, exhausted from a full day of incessant questions and photos with fans he never knew he had. He's been dreaming for hours, ever since dinner (during which Chris barely ate and was extra fidgety and everyone kept looking at Zach, as if he'd slipped him a Mickey) about falling into bed and watching bad late-night programming until he falls asleep.

He's not prepared for the onslaught of all that bare skin, all those limbs writhing around on his bed. His eyes struggle to find a focal point and they settle on the red, red curve of Chris' bottom lip, separated from its partner due to his slack, gaping mouth, panting out a litany of needy, wanton moans. It's a recognizable sight, unlike the slopes and lines of the body behind him, the thrust of the narrow hips slamming against the familiar curve of Chris' ass. Zach feels his knuckles stiffen as his gaze drifts to the hands pulling desperately at the same sheets he held so tightly, earlier that day. Then he looks into the same wide, blue eyes that avoided him all through dinner; the eyes that found him in a dark club, once upon a time, and set the world on fire.

The other man stills at Zach's presence, which seems to snap Chris back to reality.

"Zach," he whispers, already pleading, and there, that's the break, right there.

 _I'm always learning things the hard, hard, hardest way_

The slap of his palm against Chris' stubble feels like a scrape and Zach can immediately tell from the way it feels that Chris hasn't shaved in about two days. He gets angrier for knowing that and he digs his knee down into the soft flesh and hard bone beneath him, slapping him again. Chris yelps, trying to block his face with his arms, but his body can barely agree with him at this point, and it's easy to grab his hair, yank his head back and shout his rage into his hauntingly beautiful face. It's contorted now, wet all over, and Zach realizes that at some point, Chris allowed the waterworks to flow.

He doesn't want this, he thinks. He never wanted this.

"Stop your crying," Zach growls, pushing a fist into the swell of Chris' stomach as it shudders with sobs. He wishes it would stop, just _stop_. "You want to make a fool of me, Chris? Fuck you! I let you stick your dick in everything that fucking breathes, and it's not enough, is it? It's never enough; you have to come into my— _our_ bed, and—"

"I'm sorry! F-fuck, Zach, I'm _sorry_ , I—I was _high_ , I didn't th-think..."

" _Sorry_ ," Zach repeats, spitting the word back at Chris like black acid. "Wasted so much time on you," he grunts. He shudders, his anger threatening to split him apart, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he punches Chris in the jaw, a flat smack of flesh against flesh. Chris' cry almost breaks his resolve and the prickly feeling of tears in his eyes makes him want to hit him again, hit the same spot over and over until the bone breaks, just like he has. He grabs at Chris to get his attention and roars. "You must think I'm nothing without you, don't you? But you're the nothing, got that? I know you better than anyone, Chris, and you are _nothing_ without me."

"I know," Chris says, weakly. He clings to Zach's shirt with shaking hands and Zach can see through the haze clearly enough now to notice that his lip is split and welling with blood. "Please don't leave, I was such...so stupid, Zach, please..."

"You're fucking everything up," Zach grits out. He doesn't hit him again because he's suddenly so tired. "I've let this go on too long." Chris makes another desperate noise, kissing him with his bloody mouth. Zach bites his bottom lip before pushing him away, trying to keep his voice steady and menacing. "Christopher," he hisses. "Bring another person into our bed again and I will make you regret it."

As soon as Chris nods, Zach pushes him onto his stomach and spreads him open to see if he's still slick. He mentally switches himself to autopilot and holds Chris down by his lower back, pushing into him without warning. Chris nearly screams at the force but Zach blocks it out, driving into him repeatedly; if he's somehow gotten the idea along the way that Zach's cock isn't enough for him, he plans to rectify that misconception right now. Zach pulls him back by his hips and Chris clutches at the sheets, crying brokenly. Everything he says, though, is _yes_ and _please_ and _Zach_ and _more_. Zach thinks about the force behind the punch he landed on the other man's nose, before he ran out of here, and he feels even more tired. He tightens his muscles and wills himself to keep going, to make Chris understand what this is and _who_ he is; to tear him apart, if that's what it takes to remind him that he's still alive.

His release is so sudden and heavy that it's almost painful, and he scratches at Chris' hips, hardly caring if he's come as well. After he pulls out, he sees Chris is trembling but sated beneath him, and he can tell. Zach turns onto his side, away from him, and tries to ignore the sound of loud, ragged breathing until he realizes it's his own.

 _'Cause I was the one that you found  
And if I know you, you'll find me someplace new  
I hope you never, I hope you never get to_

This time, the sunlight forces him to acknowledge the sleeping man next to him in the bed, the man he dared to actually miss just twenty-four hours ago. Light bruises have already started to form on Chris' face and Zach takes it upon himself to make a few calls, excusing the other man from today's scheduled activities. He knows that Chris would be grateful, and besides, the best thing for him now is sleep. He's careful not to make much noise as he rises and goes to take his shower, then picks out clothes for the day that he imagines Chris would like. He accidentally drops his deodorant, the spray can making a loud clanging noise as it drops ungracefully into the sink. When he peers out toward the bed, he sees that Chris is dead to the world and it hasn't disturbed him at all.

He finishes getting dressed and prepares himself to leave, but finds that something won't let him go. After a few moments, Zach returns to the bed and lies down behind Chris, curling against his sleeping form. This time, he's the one who's clothed and Chris is naked, and Zach has no intentions of seducing or waking him. He just holds him carefully, pressing his face to the short, soft hairs at the nape of Chris' neck and inhaling the scent that's become akin to a drug in recent months. It hits him then, just how difficult detoxing has been, and he decides he doesn't want to go back.

"I never wanted this," he whispers into Chris' skin. "But you found me. I have no one to turn to but you, and...god, I hate you for that."

The lack of answer is both a comfort and a sharp ache, the kind of mixed emotion Zach never fails to feel when he looks in Chris' eyes. He takes a moment to visualize that unfailingly blue gaze, the one that makes him do things he'd never do for another living soul. He reasons he can damn well believe in love at first sight, if that's what this is, as long as he keeps it a secret. If he knows Chris, he'd never let Zach live it down.

 _Tonight, if we learn that the world's on fire  
I guess I'll turn to you  
I hope I never, I hope I never have to_

 **VI. Eucalyptus**

 _All the tales you've been telling from the start  
Said 'em loud but I never believed 'em  
I wore an old band of black around my heart  
I wore a frown but it never relieved me_

"Come on, Chris! Show us some love!"

"Whatcha drinkin' today, Mr. Pine? Iced mocha? Caramel Macchiato?"

Chris pulls his visor down further over his eyes and flips off the paps as he walks the usual path from his car to his front door. The questions are almost amusing, considering that they follow him enough to know exactly what he drinks every morning. They shout after him as he enters the house and locks the door, leaving him to exhale and look around sullenly. He's been back for nearly ten days and he still barely remembers this place he calls "home." He was starting to get used to the anonymous halls of hotels and the hideously patterned wallpaper of their rooms; Andes mints on the pillows and the toilet paper folded into downward triangles every night.

And Zach. Can't forget Zach.

Chris hasn't seen him or heard from him since their whirlwind promotional tour ended; a few weeks prior to that was the Night They Don't Talk About, the one he had to take a personal day from which to recover. There was only a fat lip and a faint bruise, and they faded quickly, to his pleasant surprise. He borrowed a page from Zach's acting playbook and told everyone he walked into a wall when he was drunk, going so far as to make up a riveting, hilarious story about just how many gin and tonics he'd had, though truth be told, he'd lost count after six, and he somehow was determined not to go to bed without brushing his teeth, and he wouldn't dare turn on a lamp because Zach looks so cute when he's fast asleep, as everyone knows, and _man_ , that wall came out of nowhere!

"You sure you didn't think it had tits?" John asked, eliciting a second round of laughter from the lunch table. Chris didn't have to look at Zach to know he was forcing a tight smile and shaking his head with a _That's our Chris_ expression, pretending.

"Not unless they were made of drywall," he replied, slurping his coffee.

After the group dispersed, Chris walked with Karl to a panel, blinking when they suddenly bumped shoulders. "Drywall tits, huh?" Karl said. Chris kept his voice down and lowered his gaze.

"Not as pleasant to the touch as silicone or the real deal, but they'll do in a pinch."

"Chris, I'm serious," Karl said, his voice turning gruff. "Just say the word, if you need to, and I'll make sure he never touches you again." He was frowning deeply and Chris only spared a moment of surprise; it wasn't the easiest task in the world to keep secrets from Karl, who'd become adept at reading Chris like a book—almost as well as Zach did. There was no point in lying to one of his best friends, anyway.

"I deserved it," he said, shrugging. He almost smiled when Karl immediately scoffed.

"Don't give me that battered girlfriend BS, Chris. No one deserves that."

" _BS_? You sound more like a L.A. car salesman every day, Urban."

"Okay, I get it; it's none of my business." Karl grumbled, glancing at Chris, who looked back at him gratefully. "But, honestly. I'm in your corner if you need me, kid."

"And I appreciate that. But...I don't blame him. I really hurt him."

"Chris," Karl started as they walked into the green room for the panelists, taking an offered water bottle from a gopher with a nod of thanks. "I don't know what's going on with you two, and I don't need to know. But I've barely seen you smile, the past few weeks, and I'm sure as hell not naïve enough to think it doesn't have something to do with that smug bastard. I mean, Quinto's a nice guy when he wants to be, but I can barely ever believe a word he says. Do you even trust him?"

"Yes, of course," Chris said, trying to sound confident, but to his own ears, he sounded oddly unsure. Zach had always talked a lot of shit, ever since he met him, but Karl was right in pointing out that he never revealed himself completely. Chris had once been dazzled by the way Zach could talk and talk, go on and on, make him want to believe anything. But he never said the things Chris actually needed to hear—did he? Still, where would he be if he couldn't even trust Zach? "I've always trusted him," he said.

Karl sighed and opened his bottle of water, taking a sip. "Yeah," he said, and then sipped again. "I guess I'm just worried about you. But don't mind me."

"I'm fine, man, really. But thanks," Chris said. He procured his own bottle of water and twisted the cap off, wondering just how many people could see the band of black growing around his heart, the one that tightened a little more with every passing day.

"I'm an idiot," he says now, to the empty house. He grabs a box of Cheerios and takes it to the sofa with his iced coffee, propping his feet up on the table and tossing his keys into their dish, appreciating the familiar clatter they make. The TV goes on with the push of a button and he searches the long list of channels for morning cartoons.

 _Suddenly I got everything I want  
Yeah, once again we can see the big picture  
It's gonna take all the good in all of us  
To tear away all the damage you did here_

"That's disgusting," Zach says, pointing to a photo. Chris looks over at him, noting first how he's managed to sit on a kitchen stool with his legs folded beneath him—a benefit of the yoga, he imagines—before he looks down at the magazine Zach has spread open on the kitchen island counter before him.

"Ha," he says, and eats a heaping spoonful of Cheerios, wiping away the milk that runs down his chin with the back of his hand. It's a tabloid photo of Chris sitting on his balcony, reading the paper and pretending to pick his nose with his middle finger. "It's awesome that they printed that."

"Very vulgar, Christopher. Your mama raised you better than that."

"My mama raised me to be _clever_. Which is good because I need to keep thinking of creative ways to tell those assholes exactly what I think of them."

"I must be the only one who remembers when you wanted nothing more than a paparazzi stalker." Zach smirks and eats some of his Kashi cereal, which he brought over especially because he refuses to eat Cheerios. ("Empty calories, no nutritional value" he claims; "If it's not covered in sugar, it's gotta be good for you," Chris counters.) "Now you have a veritable harem and you're complaining? You've got everything you ever wanted."

Chris looks down into his bowl, swirling the small O-shapes around in the milk. He and Zach started talking again a few days ago, much to his relief, when Zach called out of the blue and asked if he wanted to go for a jog. Well, first, he asked if Chris was keeping his nose clean, and then, after silently gauging the veracity of his response, asked about the jog. Since then, they've been jogging every morning and then switching off each day on where they eat breakfast. Their reunion has been as seamless as when they first got together, without fanfare or heavy conversation; Chris has found himself utterly relieved to fall back into a routine that involves only Zach, without any handlers, publicists, or nosy co-stars getting in the way. Not that he thinks Karl is nosy—just a loyal, if not overly curious friend. In fact, they're going to a party at his place this evening, a sort of send-off before he heads back to his family in New Zealand.

"What time's the party start?" he asks, swiftly changing the subject.

"Nine, I think? Maybe ten." Zach has finished his tree bark and moved on to an orange—main dish first, then sides, as always—which he peels dutifully, infusing the room with a citrus-tinged scent. "Zoe called today and said she's going to come after all."

"That's great. She should, it's our last night with Karl."

"Well, until the next time we have to do some sort of press with him," Zach says. He slips a slice of orange into his mouth. "So, not that big of a deal."

"Yeah, but it still feels like the end of an era, in a big picture sense." Chris shrugs and notices Zach rolls his eyes. He vaguely wonders if Zach has a problem with Karl or if Karl perhaps went ahead on his own and said something to him. Zach has never mentioned it, but... "We'll have fun," he says, softly.

"We will," Zach replies, nodding. He offers Chris a slice of orange and he takes it, chewing and smiling shyly under Zach's gaze.

"You'll pick out something nice for me to wear, I presume."

"I will, if you want me to."

"Of course I do."

Zach gives him a benign smile and goes back to his magazine, scanning an article about Lindsay Lohan. Chris peers over his shoulder, spies the accompanying photo of his former co-star looking blank and drawn, and feels a sharp twinge of empathy. It's easy enough to see how fame takes its toll on everyone in the end, how it flies in through the window like a swarm of locusts and does its unholy damage.

He looks up again at the man who opened the window and invited the swarm inside. Even now, he can't feel any resentment or hostility toward him. Instead, he's fighting off his lingering worries over imaginary scenarios between Zach and Karl, half-wondering if he's in denial, and if there's truly something wrong with him.

"Gonna hit the shower," he finally says, rising to place his empty bowl in the sink. He hears the rustle of Zach folding up the magazine behind him, and then his voice.

"I'll join you."

 _Send you off in a rotten, leaky boat  
With all the lies we could never deliver  
We'll float away and we'll never forget  
We'll never trust and we'll never forgive you_

"Will you pick a damn station already? You have the attention span of a fruit fly."

"I like to weigh my options," Chris says. He forces himself to remove his fingers from the tuning dial of the car radio and place both hands on the wheel. "You used to be charmed by my perpetual indecision."

"That's a bald-faced lie and you know it. I've never found it anything but puerile and it renders me quite irascible." Zach smirks in the passenger seat and takes his sunglasses off to clean them with a handkerchief he's extracted from his jacket. He's the only man Chris has ever known to carry a handkerchief on his person, aside from his grandfather.

"You're getting my motor running now, baby," Chris says, grinning over the steering wheel. He checks his rearview and licks his lips teasingly. "You sexy, petulant thing."

"Infant," Zach says, but his tone is affectionate. He leans his head back against the headrest and looks at Chris. "You're in a good mood. You must be looking forward to this shindig."

"You know, I am. I didn't even realize how much I missed everyone. Plus, Karl always throws epic parties. I can hardly believe he's a family man, sometimes. Not with all the booze and pot he manages to procure."

Zach looks at him as they stop at a red light, putting his sunglasses back on. Chris imagines it's a purposeful move, now that he can't really see what's going on behind Zach's eyes. He lays a hand on Chris' thigh and the muscle twitches beneath his skin at the light touch.

"You'll be careful, right?" he asks. Chris purses his lips and feels a sudden flare of annoyance creep through him; somehow, he resists the urge to snap at Zach. As if Chris needs protection from the big, bad world of Hollywood vices and downfalls. As if Zach didn't send him down the river years ago in a rotten, leaky boat, equipped with nothing but a pack of lies—warmth, concern. Love. It's a joke.

"Is this a ‘do as I say, not as I do' talk? I'll tell you what; I'll take dainty sips of everything I drink, and only between bites of hors d'oeuvres. And I'll wipe down the toilet seat before I sit on it."

"Don't be a prick," Zach says. He frowns and pulls his hand away. Chris wants to laugh.

They get to the party and Karl opens the door with his giant, friendly grin, prompting Zach and Chris to hold up a bottle of wine and a bottle of rum, respectively. There's already lots of early revelry happening inside and the music is as loud as it can go without Karl's neighbors calling the cops on their asses.

"Well, _finally_ , this party's gotten a lot more handsome!" he exclaims. Karl claps Zach on the shoulder and pulls Chris into a tight hug. Chris presses himself into the welcome, familiar warmth and closes his eyes halfway, spying a flicker of annoyance as it flits across Zach's eyes. But just as quickly as it moved, it's gone, and Zach is handing Karl the wine bottle, which is dripping with condensation from the L.A. heat.

"I'm off to find Zoe," Zach says, before slipping inside and joining the mass of people. Chris watches him float away.

"What's up his arse?" Karl asks, half-sneering at Zach's retreating form. He appraises the bottle in his hand, shrugging to himself.

"I think he's just a little sick of me for the day."

"Well, fuck that, mate. I'm glad you're here. His loss is my gain." He cups the back of Chris' neck and smiles to him, a smile that Chris can't imagine not trusting. It strongly reminds him of a smile he used to know. Karl tucks the bottle under his arm and reaches into his trouser pocket, giving Chris a glimpse of the baggie inside, filled with mossy green. "And yours, it turns out."

"Urban, you know the way to my heart all too well."

"Well, that's reassuring to hear," Karl says. He leads Chris inside.

 _And I recall, yes, I remember  
The smell of eucalyptus oil  
It's like a dream  
But I remember it well_

Chris's eyelids feel heavy but he's able to make out two distinct voices, both of which he knows very well. The rising pitch of one and low growl of the other intertwine in an angry dance, and Chris suddenly recognizes the distinct sound of an argument, though it's too hazy for him to decipher what's being discussed.

"...not even any of your _business_..."

"...when it happens in _my_ flat, in _my_ goddamn bed. You know damn well you've gone too fucking far this ti—"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were out to..."

"...so fucking tired of watching you _ruin_ him!"

"Fine, you know what? _You_ take care of him, if you're so damn bothered..."

"...had quite enough of your crap, Quinto, why don't you just..."

He decides he doesn't want to hear anymore and his head's killing him anyway, so he just lets it loll back and concentrates on drifting out of consciousness. He's quickly out again but he wakes halfway when weight dips into the bed and a strange smell wafts past his nostrils. He feels fingers on his face, a soothing rubbing sensation, and a quiet sound of confusion slips past his lips.

"Don't mind me," says a quiet whisper. Chris blinks open his eyes and is surprised to see Karl leaning over him, smiling at him in an almost shy manner. Part of him wonders where Zach is and part of him couldn't care less.

"What're you...whassat smell?" he slurs. Karl holds up a small bottle with a label Chris can't be bothered to read.

"The lotion's got eucalyptus oil in it. It'll help that nasty red mark you've got there. And, uh...the others." Chris furrows his brow and nearly manages to shut his eyes again, until he feels Karl pulling down at his jeans. He makes another puzzled sound that ends up sounding all too fearful for his own taste, and Karl immediately lifts his hands, holding them up where Chris can see. "Hey, no, calm down. Not doing anything dodgy, promise. You just...these scratch marks, I saw them earlier, and..."

Karl trails off, looking somewhat embarrassed—or, if Chris squints, he supposes that's pity on his friend's face. He swallows hard and then nods once, which is enough of a cue for Karl to expose the raised red lines on his thighs and start rubbing the eucalyptus lotion into his skin. It feels better than it should, between the coolness of the cream and Karl's careful hands, and Chris slings an arm over his eyes so he doesn't have to look at him or reveal the shame that he knows must be radiating from his face. Not only is Karl seeing him at his most vulnerable, but now Chris has to deal with the fact that he's responsible for bringing Karl into this mess he calls his private life. He's almost impressed by the way Karl's hands remain so gentle and patient. He can't possibly deserve this.

"Why're you doing this?" he mumbles into his arm. He hears Karl exhale, about to respond, but then he cuts him off. "You've got a party to host..."

"Party's long over," Karl says with a soft laugh. "Everyone's gone home; nothing left to see here."

"Is...?" Chris whispers. He suspects Karl will know exactly what he means, and his friend doesn't disappoint.

"He took off," he replies, flatly. He caps the lotion and dutifully pulls Chris' trousers back up, averting his eyes from anything else. Karl has never been anything if not a gentleman. "You'll stay here tonight. We can have a last breakfast together in the morning; which is great by me, since I was hoping to see you one more time anyway."

"Cool, man...you want me to head out to the sofa?" Chris shifts to sit up, which is easier said than done, but Karl mercifully pushes him back down.

"It's a big bed, Chris. I don't mind sharing." He gets up, then, and pulls off his shirt. Chris almost has to look away from the sight of all that tanned skin, all exposed at once. Karl nods to him as he goes to his dresser. "You want something comfier to sleep in?"

"I'm good," he says. He's loathe to put Karl through the task of undressing him, but then the kind-hearted bastard does it anyway, coming over and carefully guiding Chris out of his clothes. In a few minutes, he's redressed in a T-shirt that smells strongly of Karl and his boxers, which mostly cover his scratches.

Chris closes his eyes as Karl goes off to do his bedtime routine things and dozes lightly. He wakes again at the now-familiar shifting of the bed, smiling faintly when he spies Karl curling up beside him. He feels guilty, on the receiving end of Karl's sympathetic gaze, but he isn't sure why. Possibly because his friend warned him it might come to this—whatever "this" is. Zach's never abandoned him before, but Chris remembers Karl telling him to leave. And Zach actually listened; what to make of that?

"Sorry," he blurts, and he kind of wants to smile when Karl's eyebrow does that comical arch up into his hairline. But he doesn't. "I fucked up...dragged you into this."

"I wouldn't be taking care of you if I didn't want to, Chris. You know that."

"But why do you want to?"

"Because you're my friend," Karl starts. "Because I don't fucking trust that man, not one bit, and I'm not going to just sit back and..." He purses his lips and looks away, shaking his head. "You're my friend," he repeats. He pauses for a moment before bringing his hand to Chris' cheek, fanning his fingers over the heated skin. "Lemme see that mark again," he murmurs, and Chris just leans into the touch, letting him look at whatever he wants. The fingers don't retreat, however, and Chris looks up at Karl questioningly, a tingle running through him when he sees a peculiar look in the older man's eyes; it's searching and attentive, but also...captivated. Reverent.

"Karl," he says, just as the tip of Karl's thumb catches at his mouth, tracing over his lower lip. Chris stills, not even sure how to breathe at this moment. "Karl," he repeats, quieter. Karl licks his lips, not moving his thumb from the corner of Chris' mouth.

"M'just looking, kid," he whispers. Chris feels a pang of want, hearing the lilt in his voice, and he tries to picture Karl's wallet, full of photos of his gorgeous kids and wife that he's always showing off. It doesn't make the pang go away.

"Karl...you can't," he says, lamely.

"Don't you think I know that?"

Karl gives a wry laugh and leans down, touching his forehead to Chris'. It makes him feel hot and trembly, the way he imagines a girl feels when she's about to lose her virginity. Except he and Karl aren't going to have sex and they both know as much—it's just a passing thought, a silly notion that makes Chris want to throw his arms around the man and never look back; makes him wonder how his life might have turned out if it were Karl he'd met in that random club, instead of Zach. Just who would he be now? Is this a life he could recognize, or even claim to desire?

"If I could, I would," Karl murmurs, and he could mean any one of a million things.

"Me too," Chris says. When he kisses Karl, it doesn't feel right, but it's still a relief.

 _The saddest times and the worst times suited you well  
The dispossessed and the poor times suited you well_

He gets home the next day and Zach is waiting for him. There's no warning, as Zach seems to have walked over and his car isn't in the driveway or anywhere else in sight. Chris isn't all that surprised, however, when he walks into the living room and sees him on the sofa, legs crossed casually as he sits in silence—no TV, no music in the background, no open magazine in his lap. Zach looks up when he enters and lifts his perfectly sculpted eyebrows, regarding him.

"Well?" he says. Chris bristles at the nonchalant tone that he knows is anything but, and tosses his keys in the dish on the coffee table.

"Well what, Zachary?"

"Did you fuck him?"

"Wow." Chris merely blinks and turns away, flipping through the mail he tucked under his arm when he came in. When he doesn't say anything else, Zach frowns, annoyed at being purposely ignored.

"Answer the question, Chris," he huffs. Chris keeps looking at his mail.

"I don't have to answer if I don't want to. And I think you should apologize to me for asking such a disgusting question."

"Apologize to _you_?!" Zach rises from his seat then, approaching Chris with a seething stalk to his step. "You don't even realize how much you embarrassed me last night, do you? I told you to be careful, and you completely ignored me...I don't even know where you got the stuff from, but I told you to stay _away_ from that shit. And then I have to deal with Karl, of all people, and...fuck. Are you listening to me?"

"Not really," Chris drawls. He startles a bit when Zach smacks the envelopes out of his hand, a few bills and a discounted offer for _Men's Health_ falling to the floor. Chris gapes up at Zach and then squares his shoulders. Zach obviously wants a showdown. Well, he can do that. "Who the fuck cares, Zach? You abandoned me last night. What about that?"

"You're stalling." Zach frowns, his gaze growing darker, if possible. "I asked you a question and I want an answer."

Chris gives him a crooked, knowing smile, then. He's done with this. Fucking done. "No, you don't, Zach. Trust me; you really don't."

He expects the slap and isn't surprised when it burns bright against his cheek. What he doesn't expect is to turn back and find tears shining in those dark, livid eyes.

 _Yeah, all the pain and the hard times suited you well  
Yeah, all the fear and the hate crimes suited you well_

"Is this a joke to you, Christopher? Am I a fucking punch line you share with everyone we know?" Zach grabs at Chris' arm and pulls him closer, which is easy to do because Chris is still transfixed by the sight of Zach emotionally unraveling. "I bet you had a good laugh with Karl while he was fucking your ass, didn't you? Or was he kind and gentle and make love to you like you'd damn well shatter?"

Chris blinks, feeling his chest tighten. "You only want me to be unhappy," he whispers.

"Fuck you," Zach snaps, and then he grabs Chris roughly by the back of the neck, biting at his mouth. Chris hisses in pain and fists a hand in Zach's shirt, forcing himself to push him away and going willingly when Zach pulls him back. He needs this, he knows; he needs this more than anything.

They wrestle with each other's clothes as they stumble their way back to the sofa. Zach pins Chris' hands behind his back as he grinds against him, grazing his teeth against his jaw and then his shoulders. Chris' shirt hangs from his wrists and he watches as Zach starts to work on his belt, distracted by a sudden, sharp bite to his nipple. He curses loudly and bucks against Zach, who growls deeply at the reaction.

"Tell that Kiwi bastard—that fucking closet case—only _I_ can make you yell like that. That you're mine, not his, _mine_ ," he murmurs. Chris breathes raggedly as his ass is pressed harder against the sofa arm.

"So you can sink me," Chris says, his voice coming out bitter and hard-edged. Zach draws back slightly, and it's all Chris can do not to hungrily rake his eyes over the sweaty, half-naked form before him.

"You don't remember anything I said after that, do you?" he says. Chris frowns slightly and shakes his head, confused by the way Zach's bottom lip seems to wobble. He only hesitates for a moment before opening Chris' jeans and muttering "Turn around" as he spins Chris to face the sofa. When he pushes Chris down, he goes.

 _The overboard and the downtrodden suited you well  
The dispossessed and the poor times suited you well_

Zach's cock splits him open, harder and faster than usual, and Chris has to cling to the sofa cushions as if they're life rafts. It hurts, he can't admit otherwise, but it's a pain that suits them both at this moment. Chris works to rock back against Zach's thrusts, squelching a whimper when he leaves new scratches along his hips. He thinks about Karl's gentle kiss: so new and satisfying, exploratory and curious. He thinks about the way they reminded each other that they couldn't do more, and the look in Karl's eyes before he said goodnight and curled up against him to fall asleep.

Chris never wanted Zach more than in that moment; the realization brings a hot rush of tears to his eyes.

" _Zach_ ," he cries, as he's forced further onto the sofa, hiding the crying by burying his face against a pillow. He feels each of Zach's grunts vibrating through him and responds by spreading his thighs further apart, letting himself plunge deeper into the sensation. Chris knows it's one of Zach's kinks, to see him spread himself like that, and he's barely surprised when Zach's cock sinks into him at a new angle, his moans growing louder.

"God, so gorgeous like that," Zach mutters. He snaps his hips harder and Chris bucks forward with the force of the thrust, gasping brokenly. The untouched, tortured head of his cock bumps against the sofa. "Tell me you're gonna come for me," he says.

"Gonna c-come for you," Chris obliges, sighing when Zach tugs on his hair.

"You only come for me, don't you?"

" _Yes_..." Chris curls his fingers into the velvety material of the sofa and groans, realizing he's about five seconds away from coming all over it. He bites on the corner of a pillow, then lets it go, too dry in his mouth. "Zach, I didn't—I didn't..."

"N-no...?" Zach places a hand between Chris' shoulder blades. He caresses lightly down his spine and all of Chris' synapses fire in unison, his cock twitching and spurting without a single stroke. The roar of static between his ears nearly blocks out the quiet admission he hears between pants of breath: "Fuck, you sink me, Chris...s'what I said, _you sink me_."

Chris presses his face harder into the cushion and whimpers at his words. He was right; Zach doesn't want him to be happy—not when they're so damn good at being miserable. Zach pulls out just before he comes and releases over Chris' bare back, making him groan. He desperately wanted to feel him come, but Zach won't give him that, not today. Perhaps he never will again. Zach's warmth remains for a minute or so and then flees with him, as he goes to fetch his clothes. Chris remains bent and broken over the sofa, watching the lamplight frame Zach's gentle curves as he moves around the room. He looks strikingly beautiful; sad moments have always suited him. Chris turns his head away, hardly able to stand the sight, and presses his other cheek against the sofa; he smells the lingering scent of eucalyptus oil, now embedded in the fabric. It's the saddest thing of all, he thinks, as he considers escaping into sleep.

He asks himself that evening why Zach left so quickly, expecting to throw himself yet another massive pity party about how his lover doesn't want him. It's only then that he remembers whispering in the haze of his orgasm: _Get out_.

Chris still doesn't know what to make of the fact that Zach listened.

 _The saddest times and the worst times suited you well  
The saddest_

 **VII. Aeons/Together**

At first, it hurts so much that he can't even listen to music. Days go by and there's not a single tune stuck in his head.

Zach pulls the covers up further and burrows into them, wishing he were capable of spending day after day in bed, until he's creaky and sore from the springs of the mattress pushing back against his weight. But even if he wanted to spend every moment hiding under a blanket, he can't do it; he has a dog and a cat that depend on him, an agent and publicist who leave voicemails and expect their calls to be returned, daily obligations. Without a routine, Zach is lost; he's rather lost without Chris, too, but at least he has something left to rely on, this way.

He decides to pull up some trashy gossip sites for fun as he sips his coffee, something to distract him. His shoulders slump when he finds seemingly endless photos of Chris running, fetching beverages, going out with nameless girls Zach has never seen before.

He clicks on a high-resolution photo and squints at the lines of Chris' face. When he thinks of Chris, he always conjures the image of him on the night they met: fresh-faced, bright-eyed, shimmering with youth.

It's been aeons.

It's only when Noah starts to bark that Zach realizes someone's at the door. He slurps down the last of his coffee and stands, going to the door and peeking outside. To say he's surprised by the sight of his visitor is an understatement. Zach opens the door without fanfare and just stares at Karl as he stands there, hands on his hips, eyebrow raised to the heavens. He doesn't look especially smug or angry, just...Karl-ish.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" he asks. Zach shrugs one shoulder.

"I assumed you were here to borrow a cup of sugar; my mistake."

"You're such a pain in the arse," Karl says. He pushes his way past Zach into the house and Zach lets him. If anything, the man has always been a friend, so there's no reason to treat him otherwise now. He highly suspects this is not a social call, though. He goes back to his stool and perches there, watching Karl pour a mug of coffee. He smirks when Karl wrinkles his nose at all the Splenda packets he finds. "If I did want to borrow sugar, I'd be shit out of luck, I see."

"Pretty much." Zach watches Karl as he stirs in half a Splenda packet, then looks to the fridge for milk, sighing when he finds only the soy variety. "I avoid dairy if I can. You remember."

"I do now, yes." A short pour of soy milk and Karl is soon sipping from a mug of coffee that obviously displeases him. He keeps drinking anyway. "I half-expected to find you unshaven and disheveled. I should have known better than to imagine you'd give up your tight-arsed routine."

"My routine keeps me sane," Zach says. He looks back at his laptop and squints when he sees the photo of Chris is still displayed on the screen. He closes the window, hoping Karl didn't see it. "I thought you'd be back in New Zealand by now."

"Some meetings came up, so I'm sticking around for a few more days. Some film about...werewolves? Vampires? Hippies? Whatever the flavor of the week is right now."

"Vampire-hippie werewolves from outer space?"

"Yeah, I think that's it, actually. And the women who love them."

Zach smirks. "But they're just not that into them."

"Exactly. A real crowd-pleaser." Karl laughs and sits on a stool across the island from Zach, cupping his mug in both palms. Zach smiles faintly before he realizes he's doing it; it's likely the first time in days that he hasn't worn a blank or scowling expression. Karl lifts his one eyebrow again. "So, you're okay," he says, more of an observation than a question. Zach tilts his head, looking up at him from beneath his dark lashes.

"I'm always okay. What makes you think I wouldn't be?"

"Well, I asked Chris if you two patched things up after the party and he said you decided to break up." Zach's head jerks up at those last words; Karl's declaration is news to him. Karl purses his lips at Zach's reaction and tightens his hold on his mug. "Maybe you're not as okay as you thought you were, then?"

Zach shuts his laptop with a loud snapping sound and gets up, bringing his own mug to the sink. "We didn't break up. We had an altercation; nothing out of the ordinary."

"Well, no offense, Quinto, but he must not think so if that's what he said."

"He just said that because he knows you want him to be done with me. And for some reason, he seems to care what you think." Zach looks back at Karl from the sink with a challenging stare, and Karl returns it for a moment before backing down. He's right, and Karl's face is enough to tell him so. It doesn't make him feel any better. Zach rinses out the mug and exhales. "Why are you here, anyway?"

"I told you, because I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"No, you wanted to rub my face in it." Zach drops the mug on the drying rack once he's done, folding his arms across his chest. He glares darkly at Karl. "I know how you feel about him, Urban."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do anything about it, did I? He loves _you_ , Zach. I'd be lucky if he even thought of me as a...a fun distraction." Karl looks down and Zach can't help but scoff; self-pity doesn't wear well on him. "You know what I mean," Karl says, his voice rough with embarrassment. "You always squander everything he gives you. Do you even love him back?"

"Of course I do," Zach spits, and he has to pause in surprise at how easily the words fell out of his mouth. He almost forgets to roll his eyes.

"Have you ever said as much?" Karl needles.

"I don't _have_ to say it; I say it in everything I do. Chris and I aren't like you and your wife or anyone else, Karl. We don't have to say things to feel them. They just _are_."

Karl's the one doing the eye rolling now, and he takes one more sip of the coffee before pulling a face and abandoning it. "I know better than to argue with you, Zach. If that's the way you think it is between you two, I can't say otherwise. But I didn't imagine all those girls Chris was picking up in the hotel bars, and the fucked-up look on his face when he said you wouldn't care. I'm not imagining you sitting here alone, mooning over photos of him with random arm candy. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that you're full of shit."

Zach bristles, about to unleash his fury upon the man sitting in his kitchen, when a loud crash rings out, right behind him. He turns to see that Harold has found his way onto the counter and nudged the previously used mug from its precarious position on the drying rack, sending it tumbling to the floor. Zach bends slightly, his first instinct to clean up the mess, and then lets out a frustrated sigh when he spies all the broken porcelain pieces. When he looks up, Karl is right there, holding a broom and dustbin.

"Let me help," he says, softly. Zach hesitates before he nods, and then they set about picking up the pieces. The metaphor is not lost on Zach, and he knows it wouldn't be on Chris, either. Zach can almost hear his laughing voice saying, _Bad simile_ , and he directs a small, fleeting smile down at the floor as he sweeps.

Another aeon ago, he thinks. Another age.

*

 _I want you  
You want me  
So let's go out  
You want me_

"I can't believe you actually asked me to go out with you."

Zach peers up from his menu and looks across the table at the pair of blue-grey eyes peering back at him from under a tuft of brown curls. He shrugs and watches as Anton butters a piece of bread. Everything Anton does reminds Zach of how terribly young he is, including his gusto as he bites into the bread. He remembers being as excited about food when he was twenty, except he had a lot less money than Anton has, so it was actually doubly exciting.

"Why not?" Zach says with a shrug. He idly runs his fingertips up and down the delicate stem of his wineglass. "Seems simple: I want you, you want me, so let's go out."

"Well, yeah," Anton says. A light blush rises over his cheeks and Zach smiles at the sight. He hasn't had much one-on-one time with Anton since they finished filming the movie, and truth be told, he's still pissed off at the kid for giving Chris the cocaine at Karl's party. But he's nice to look at, even if just for one night. "You sure Chris won't mind that we're doing this?" he says, looking up at Zach. "I know you guys are broken up, but I don't want to get on his bad side."

"We're not broken up," Zach says, simply.

"You're not? But...Karl said—"

"Karl." Zach waves a hand dismissively and shakes his head. He's sick of Karl by now. Somehow, he managed to sit and listen to the guy drone on forever, the other day, about what Zach could do to make everything up to Chris. It made some sense at the time, but the more Zach thought about it, the more he realized that he knows Chris better than Karl. And if there's anything Zach excels at, it's getting Chris' attention. He tipped off his publicist about his whereabouts tonight and in a manner of hours, photos of himself and Anton will surely be plastered all over every available corner of the Internet. He's looking forward to Karl's pissed-off phone call already.

"Karl doesn't understand relationships; he's married," Zach says. Anton laughs, a bubbly sound tumbling from his plush mouth, and shakes his head.

"I guess you're right. Can I have a sip of your wine?" he asks, pursing his lips hopefully. Zach sighs and pushes the glass across the table.

"When are you turning twenty-one already, innocent child? This is getting tiresome."

"I take offense to that," Anton says, sniffing and raising his chin as he drinks from Zach's rather expensive glass of merlot.

"All right, I take that back: you're not a child."

"That's not the part I object to," Anton says. When he licks his lips, eyes burning into Zach's, it doesn't feel right, but it still makes him shiver.

"I'll order for you," Zach murmurs, and motions the waiter over to their table. He picks out something for both of them and Anton smiles appreciatively, his hands clasped together on the table.

As predicted, the paparazzi are in full force when Zach and Anton leave the restaurant. Zach makes a show of waving them off but strategically makes subtle moves toward the boy as he walks, clasping his shoulder lightly or brushing their fingers together, leaning back to whisper things in his ear—words that look lascivious in the movement of his lips but really are just basic instructions: "Stay close" and "Wait here while I tip the valet." Still, Anton gives him scorching, wanting looks in return, as if what Zach's really saying is: _I'm going to fuck your brains out_.

Anton seems surprised when they end up parked outside his place instead of Zach's, but it only makes him pause momentarily. "Hey," he whispers, and when Zach turns toward him, Anton reaches out to cup his jaw, pulling him into a deep, slick kiss. Zach returns it soundlessly, enjoying the feel of the eager, agile tongue in his mouth. He places his hand on Anton's thigh and caresses him there before cupping Anton's elbow and gently pushing him back.

"All right," he murmurs, and Anton scrunches his nose. "Someone might be out there," he explains. "Cameras."

"You didn't seem to care before." Anton laughs faintly and leans in again, only to be pushed back into his seat. "Zach...what the fuck? Are you just fucking with me?"

Zach regards him in silence before pushing a few strands of dark hair back from his brow, looking out the windshield. "You shouldn't have given Chris those drugs," he says.

"So...what, you're punishing me?" Anton lifts his brow in disbelief and then looks out the window, laughing at the gears turn. "Oh...okay, I see. You're using me to make him jealous. The paparazzi...right. Okay." Zach exhales, gripping the steering wheel with both hands. He can't lie to the kid any longer.

"Yeah, I am. Sorry, Anton."

Anton purses his lips in thought and then looks to him again. His cheekbones draw in and the streetlamp light catches their shadows brilliantly.

"You could have just told me," he says, quietly. "I don't mind."

And to prove his point, he reaches down and undoes the fly of Zach's trousers, causing his breath to catch. When he's got Zach's cock in his palm, he curls his fingers around it and strokes expertly. Zach's grip on the wheel tightens, as does his jaw; he should have known that Anton has experience with this.

"You want my hand or my mouth?" Anton whispers. Zach exhales harshly, keeping his eyes off Anton and still looking out at the hood of the car. If he doesn't watch, maybe it won't count.

"How about that smart-assed mouth?" he whispers. He hears the answering smirk without seeing it, and feels it, too, as it ensnares the head of his throbbing cock.

 _Who do we think we are, running 'round all sweaty?  
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together_

Zach can't sleep. The air conditioning is on but he's still sweating and he half-wonders if he's getting ill as he rolls onto his stomach. There are a few stripes of moonlight filtering into his room through the window blinds and he wishes he could just turn off the pale yellow disc in the sky. He can't stop thinking about Anton and his mouth, and moreover, how it couldn't compare—would _never_ compare—to the sweet, wet heat of Chris' talented lips and tongue, trained by now to do everything Zach likes. Sure, Anton was new and different, exciting in a way. But nothing about it felt perfect, the way it always does with Chris.

He's half-hard against the mattress and he rocks his hips down, figuring that if he can't sleep, he might as well be productive. Zach thinks of the glistening curve of Chris' mouth and sighs, recognizing the sharp ache in the pit of his stomach as guilt.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles into his pillow. Just then, a familiar weight presses itself against his back and he gasps, fearful for a moment before he recognizes the gust of breath fluttering against his cheek.

"You should be," Chris whispers. He rolls his hips against Zach's ass and Zach is so dizzied by the damn _smell_ of him that he bears down against the bed as a response, then lifts up again, searching for the hardness of his cock. Chris reaches down with both hands and pins Zach's wrists to the bed, nipping at the sensitive shell of his ear, making him groan. "What the fuck did you think you were playing at?" he growls, and it only registers then that Chris is angry with him. Of course he is. Zach practically posed and blew kisses to all of those photographers; he knew what he was doing. He can't possibly be surprised. This is exactly what he wanted.

"I...I wanted to get your attention," he answers, hearing the whimper in his voice. Only Chris can undo him like this, pull him apart like a swatch of discarded fabric. Zach knows he probably made him this way. He's not proud.

Chris wraps his legs around Zach's to further immobilize him, pressing down against the fragile bones of his ankles. "Well, you fucking crossed the line," he snarls. He bites at the back of Zach's neck, setting the nerve endings there on fire and making him yelp. "He's a goddamn _kid_ , Zach. You want to fuck with someone, you fuck with _me_. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Who do you think _you_ are, Chris? Some kind of hero?" Zach trembles, trying to suppress the sob suddenly lodged in his throat. He rocks his hips again, searching for something else to feel. "You're running around, telling everyone we broke up, like a complete _coward_."

"Because I need to get the fuck away from you, Zach!"

Chris bears down again, now letting himself rut against Zach's ass properly, and Zach does the same, against the bed, wishing he could reclaim his hands from Chris to cover his ears or pull a pillow over his head. Chris is right. Chris is so right. He should run, far away from this place, from Zach, from everything and everyone out to corrupt his golden soul. He can still make it out alive.

"Y-you need me, Chris...I need _you_ ," he gasps, trying to grip the sheets between his fingers. Chris bucks against him and forces him harder into the mattress and he jerks uncontrollably. "Fuck, I love you..."

"Oh, god... _fuck_ you, Zach," Chris mutters against his neck. He grips his wrists so hard that Zach knows he'll leave bruises. He pictures himself walking around naked, in broad daylight where all the paps can see, sporting Chris' marks all over his neck, arms, and back. The mere thought that everyone can tell he belongs to Chris just by looking at him sends him shuddering against the sheets, smothering a wail against his pillow.

He feels Chris' grip loosen and concentrates on the heavy breath still beating against the ticklish skin behind his ear, his muscles still vibrating with the aftershocks of something so fresh, so new and delicate that he can't name it. "Fuck me, please," he murmurs, and only then does Chris let go, to fetch the lube out of the drawer.

 _Such a lovely face; such an ugly city  
Baby, I will wait for you if we could be together forever_

After Chris is spent, he doesn't move for a while and Zach is pleased with that. He feels incredibly full, as clichéd as that sounds. He's not usually submissive—they both know this very well—but right now, all he wants is to be held and protected by this stunning man. He wants Chris to do for him what he's never been able to do for Chris. It's hypocritical, he knows, but he's selfish, just like everyone else in this ugly city. If it wasn't him who'd gotten to Chris first, someone else would have, and that's a thought terrible enough to break Zach's heart.

Chris remains draped over him even after he pulls out and Zach spends a while sliding his fingertips up and down the muscled slope of his bicep, tracing the veins and relishing the feel of his pulse. He kisses the crook of his elbow. He does everything but look at that lovely face because he's not sure he can bear it.

Whatever is meant to happen next, Zach feels somewhat relieved. He said what he needed to say to Chris; he did what Karl said he needed to do. The guilt over Anton and what they wrought has been washed away by a warm feeling of contentment that Zach hasn't experienced in ages. He and Chris might still be angry at each other, but it's now well into a new day, and things already feel completely different—better. Maybe they can do this, now; maybe they can be together.

When the sunlight pries Zach's eyes open and he finds his bed without Chris in it, he gets up and goes to the bathroom, taking a piss and brushing his teeth. He looks in the mirror and takes in his bloodshot eyes, as well as the violet blossoms along his neck, and has to stop himself from droning, _I am Zach's complete lack of surprise_. He needs a shower, but he decides to wait for now.

He's got a million messages on his phone from last night and this morning, from his agent, his mom, brother, publicist, Zoe. Shit, Zoe. He listens to that one a second time.

"Oh, honey, you did _not_. You did not do what I think you did. Oh, _honey_. Zach. Shit. Will you call me? Please call me. I am your friend. I will listen to you."

She says those last two lines extra slow, as if Zach isn't quite right in the head, which isn't far from the truth. He smiles, despite himself, and picks up the phone.

"Zach!" Zoe picks up on the second ring and is breathless when she answers, as if she just ran across the entire length of her penthouse. "What the fuck, Zach."

"I know," he says, running a hand through his wild bedhead. He squints, still getting used to all the light in the house. "It was dumb. But it's fine; it won't happen again."

"What won't happen again? You getting photographed out on the town with Anton, or Chris getting photographed leaving your place at the crack of dawn?"

Zach blinks, his jaw dropping. "Oh...fuck me," he whispers.

"I would, but then _my_ ass would be all over Perez Hilton. Zach, what is going _on_ with you? I thought you knew to be more careful than this. Everyone's worried about you...your publicist even called me, she's so crazed. Have you called her?"

"I..." Zach exhales, the fear coursing through him like lightning. He's losing control and he can feel it slipping away. Everything that he once warned Chris about is suddenly happening to him, to them, because he's been careless. He can already picture the Perez Hilton homepage, splashed with photos of all three of them and something hopelessly clever scrawled over their faces, like, _Gay Trek_. "I'll call you back, Z," he says.

"Yeah, okay," she sighs.

Zach hangs up and holds his phone with shaky hands. He calls Chris immediately, grunting in frustration when he gets his annoyingly perky voicemail message. He tries calling again and again, and nothing. Finally, he decides to leave a message.

"Chris, it's me," he says, and he blanks for a moment on what to say. Finally, he forces his brain to wake up, clearing his throat when he finds himself hoarse. "If...if you need me, call me. If you need to hide out here, or you want to get away for a while, or...I don't know, anything. Call me, okay? I'll be here all day. I'll be right here, waiting for your call." He licks his lips and pauses, shutting his eyes. "We should be together right now. I'll wait for you."

Zach ends the call and sits down on the sofa, curling his fingers in his hair. Fuck his routine today; he's waiting for Chris.

 _We could be together forever_

 **VIII. This Boy's in Love**

 _I stole the keys to the skies  
We'll leave this place for the final time  
No crying words, no goodbyes  
Yes, tonight we're burning all the dark times_

Chris looks up at the sky through the tinted window of his publicist's car. She's already fielded about ten phone calls and he hasn't been paying much attention aside from picking up on snippets such as "Chris and Zachary Quinto are just good friends" and "They often go jogging together" and "Chris has no comment on Zachary Quinto's personal life." She's good; she's really good. He knows he pays her for a reason.

His own phone keeps buzzing in his palm, with new messages from Karl, Zoe and his mom. Most of them are from Zach. His thumb twitches when a new call sends it vibrating against his skin, Zach's name flashing across the screen. Melissa leans over and smacks his arm sharply and he squeaks.

"Ow, what the fuck?!"

"Don't answer that," she hisses. "I swear, Chris; what are you doing getting yourself involved with Zach Quinto? His sexuality is the worst-kept secret in Hollywood. And coming on the heels of those Anton Yelchin photos...god." Melissa lights a cigarette and cracks open the window with a huff. He resists the urge to smile at her; she's more tightly-wound than Zach is on one of his no-yoga days.

"You should try yoga," he says, and recoils when she throws him a filthy look, exhaling her smoke in a straight line. "Okay, not funny." Chris sighs and looks down when his phone alerts him to yet another new voicemail. His mailbox will probably be full soon. "I've been involved with him way before this," he mumbles.

"Yeah, I figured that out. Thanks for letting me know, by the way. It's not like I'm your publicist or anything."

"Right now, you sound like an ex-girlfriend."

"You should be so lucky." She flicks her ashes out the window and shakes her head. "Chris, you have to be discreet. Lay low for a while, then go out with more girls. I don't care who they are. If you want to flirt with a co-star, make it Zoe. And for god's sake, stay away from Quinto."

Chris grinds his teeth, looking out the window again. If he'd only just stayed this morning instead of running out on Zach, none of this would be happening. He should have listened to the burning sensation in his gut that nagged at him to stay, the one he dismissed as weakness. "I can't even answer his calls? He's probably freaking out as much as we are, Mel."

"It's not your problem, Chris. Just make a clean break: no crying, no goodbyes. Whatever relationship you two have, just end it, now."

Chris inhales a cloud of secondhand smoke and shuts his eyes. He imagines this morning, the moment he opened his eyes to the darkness of Zach's bedroom and the soft skin at the nape of his neck. He combed his fingers through his lover's dark hair and relished the sensation of home, lying in Zach's bed, draped along his beautiful body. He recognized all the familiar clicks and hums and creaks of his house, and they all seemed to welcome him back. He tucked his nose between the achingly warm juts of Zach's shoulder blades and silently wrestled with everything he was feeling. Zach had said he loved him. _Loved_ him; loved _him_ , Chris. He'd waited so long to hear those words, to know that he wasn't alone in his ceaseless, tormenting longing; now they'd finally been said, just as Chris was halfway across the threshold. He was surprised to find that the memory left him cold.

"Yeah, you, too," he whispered, then extracted his fingers from Zach's grip and left. He told himself not to think about the fact he might be leaving for the final time—then he realized he was thinking about it by actively _not_ thinking about it, and decided to let himself have this one moment of grief. He waved goodbye to Noah, too sleepy yet to follow him to the front door, and locked himself out.

Melissa prods his side and lifts her brow. Her long cigarette is dangling from her fingers and Chris pictures Zach sitting there, the two of them out on Karl's balcony (a balcony he never would have stepped foot on before Zach came along), and the wineglass that sways back and forth between his long fingers, the blinding glint that shoots along its rim when it meets the rays of a fading California sun.

"Got that, Chris?" she asks. "Or have you not heard a single word I've said?"

If he really thinks about it, Zach is the one who gave him the strength to leave—the one who taught him courage, handed him the keys to the skies. Now he's on the run, the keys burning a hole in his pocket. He's not giving them back.

"I have," he says, nodding. "A clean break. Got it."

When she goes for another cigarette, he plucks it from her grasp and lights it for himself.

 _Drown all the fears that we had  
These are the things that we'll never understand  
This time fight fire with fire  
'Cause baby, tonight the world belongs to you and I_

Chris will never understand Hollywood culture, the way actors just have to accept the fact that their privacy will always be invaded and challenged, and how the public laughs at them if they dare to complain or take a stand. Do their fans really hate them that much, that they would not only allow this to happen, but come to expect it? He's always been baffled by Zach's Zen approach to the entire thing; he doesn't understand how Zach can just shrug off such injustice and allow himself to be sucked into the machine—not to mention the way he always manages to be so polite to the goddamn paps when they get in his face and take advantage of his allowances.

When the limo drops Chris off at his house, he nods blankly as Melissa rattles off another laundry list of instructions, demands and expectations, and then jumps headfirst into a surge of yelling cameramen and their bright flashes and loud questions. Chris willfully blocks out everything they're saying. He almost decks one that dares to grab him by the elbow and it's only after he's safely inside, with all of his doors and windows locked shut, that he thinks to feel guilty about it.

He draws all the blinds and curses when he finds his hands are shaking. He wishes like hell that he had some kind of fix, but he's out. For a split second, he thinks about calling up Lindsay and laughs out loud at himself.

By the time he's sitting in front of the television, tucked into a pile of blankets with a big bowl of Cocoa Puffs (Zach's secret favorite, he can't help but remembering), he feels a little better. Chris picks up his phone and regards it for a moment before pushing it aside. As soon as he takes his fingers off it, though, it suddenly comes to life, buzzing at him. The screen displays a rather cryptic text from Anton.

 _Go to youtube search "zach quinto paparazzi fight" fuckin crazy dude. Btw you ok??_

Chris rolls his eyes at first, eating a heaping spoonful of cereal. Then the crux of the text registers and he reads it again, reaching for his laptop. By the time he pulls up YouTube, his heart is beating out of control.

The video is fairly harmless when it starts: just Zach leaving his house and being swarmed by a sea of media bloodsuckers. The questions are new, though, all about his sexuality and Anton and Chris, whether this will affect the filming of the sequel. Bullshit stuff. Zach appears more rattled than Chris has ever seen him; he's wearing sunglasses and one of his ridiculously ugly hats, trying to keep his head down and weave his way through the crowd—probably off to a meeting with his own publicist, if Chris might venture a guess.

Then it happens. The camerawork, already a little shaky, proceeds to get even worse just as the guy behind it calls out, "Zach, any comment on Chris Pine being in the closet? Come on, man, is he a fag, or what?" Then it's a blur of expletives and Zach suddenly takes up the entirety of the frame. There's an obvious jostling motion as the camera slips and falls to the ground, leaving Chris, the hapless viewer, with only a view of the grass and the angry soundtrack of shouts coming from all directions. Chris swallows hard and watches the same few seconds again and again, trying to decipher all of Zach's words. First, he definitely yells, "What the _fuck_ did you say?!" and then something that might be "bigoted piece of shit," and probably is, if five viewings are enough to identify it.

The video has a time stamp of three hours ago. Chris closes his laptop and shudders, forcing himself to take a deep breath. He remembers ignoring Zach's phone call back in Melissa's car and wonders if it was placed right after this happened. He's sure it was. Had to be. He swallows hard and puts his cereal aside as he feels his stomach turn with a wave of nausea, threatening to drown him along with everything else.

When he gets himself under control, he calls Anton, who picks up with a hurried, "Chris, I'm so fucking sorry," and Chris doesn't even think about his answer before the words, "I know; it's okay," leave his mouth. They're both silent for a few moments, and then Anton loudly exhales. "Did you see?" he asks.

"Yeah," Chris says. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and pressing his fingers to his temples. "Man, he's been calling me all day. My damn publicist forced me not to pick up my phone, I didn't even know..."

"I hate to say it, Chris, but she's probably not wrong. Maybe you two should just stay away from each other for a little while. Maybe—"

"I need to _talk_ to him, Anton! Fuck this incognito shit, he's in _pain_. I want to see him, want to be with him...I fucking _love_ him." Chris buries his hand in his hair and concentrates on the feeling of his own pulse and on not dropping the phone. He can't have a panic attack while he's on the phone with Anton, who he's hated for the past twenty-four hours, up until about two minutes ago. He takes in a sharp inhalation of air, willing himself not to hyperventilate. "I just...god, I can't _handle_ this."

"Chris...it's going to be okay. I don't know what to say, but...we all have good people behind us. We'll stick together, fight fire with fire. Or...hide out in John's basement, I dunno." He laughs nervously and Chris does as well, grateful for the moment of comic relief. He's willing to bet the kid is just as nervous as he is, and he has to remember that. "It'll blow over, man. It has to. You know?"

"Yeah," Chris says. He sniffles and scrubs at his nose, which reminds him. "Do you have any coke?"

"Ehh...a little," Anton says. "Zach was pissed that I gave some to you at the party. I don't really want to get between you two again, if that's okay."

"What?!" Chris laughs, almost hysterically. "The whole world thinks we're having some kind of gay, sci-fi orgy, and you're worried over what Zach thinks about a little bit of nose candy? Come on, man."

"I just don't think it's a good idea." The weak tone of Anton's voice is enough to tell Chris he's breaking him down. He tries not to sound too desperate.

"Anton, you owe me. You _know_ you owe me. And if you don't help me out, I'll find someone else who will and then you'll still—"

"Ugh, _okay_ ," Anton concedes. "I'll send someone over with it soon. I'd come over myself but I have to lay low. You should, too."

"I plan on it," Chris says, but what he's really planning is an evening that's sure to help him in his quest to forget he exists. Failing that, he'll convince himself that this is all petty nonsense and the world belongs to him. Anything is better than this.

 _Don't tell the world what we've known  
We've come so far but there's still a way to go  
It's dark, there's no need for light  
When the fire in his eyes is so bright_

Chris dials Zoe from his car as he drives. He's not really sure where his destination is located—it's been so long since the last time he was there—but he'll figure it out; L.A. isn't that complicated. He's got one hand on his phone and the other on the wheel, which he knows is dangerous. Zach helped him install some kind of Bluetooth thingamajig so he wouldn't have to hold his phone while he drives, but Chris can't figure out how the hell it works, despite Zach's patient instructions. He just nodded blankly to all the droning, pressed buttons and pretended he found it as easy breezy as Zach did. But really, it's all Greek to him. Or maybe Romulan. So much for technology.

"Chris!" Zoe exclaims as she picks up. "Are you okay? I called you earlier..."

"Come dancing with me!" Chris shouts, trying to make himself heard over the rush of air roaring in from his open windows.

"What? Dancing? Are you crazy?!"

"Melissa says I should flirt with you more. So, what do you say, wanna go out for some dancing and drinks and then you can blow me in the Honda?"

"I'm swooning, Chris, I really am, but there's no way in hell I'm touching your dick in the backseat of any vehicle, let alone that White Boy car of yours."

"I didn't say it had to be in the backseat," Chris says. He grins, feeling the blessed white powder from Anton course through his veins. He feels so much better now, it's crazy. With a little defensive driving, he's even managed to get on the road without any photogs following after him. "No, really, I just need to blow off some steam, Zoe. I know you're always up for dancing. What do you think?"

Zoe pauses, possibly to think and possibly to tell him exactly where he can go. "Where are you going?" He tells her the name and she scoffs at him. "Isn't that a gay club?"

"Women love gay clubs! I have it under good advisement. It's totally neutral ground. No one will hit on you except me, it'll be awesome."

"Chris, you should be _home_. If you turn around and go home right now, I promise I'll be right over with a six-pack and pizza. I'll even dress up all cute, so everyone camped out on your lawn thinks it's a hot date."

"No, Zoe, come on! I _need_ this! I need to get away, need to fuckin'... _forget_ all this shit for a few hours. Home is no good. Home is bad. I'm a prisoner there. Please? Pretty please? I'll go down on _you_ in the backseat."

Zoe laughs at that last part and Chris grins crookedly. Another person he's managed to wear down today. Chris: 2, World: 1,000,000. Well, at least he's gaining. He knows he's still got a way to go.

"Fine, I'll go get dressed," she says. "And I'm holding you to your offer. But only because it's good heterosexual publicity."

"Just what the doctor ordered." Chris is so high that he can't really tell if they're still joking or not, but he's having fun, so he figures it doesn't matter. "Keep a low profile if you can, we don't need the world to know where we're going."

"That's true, considering you picked a damn gay club."

"Well, we can go somewhere else if you want."

"No, that's fine. See you there."

She hangs up before he can make a different suggestion. Well, that's okay, Chris thinks. He has his reasons for the club he chose. Tonight is a night for purging. He's got courage pumping through him and fire in his eyes and he's going to get laid tonight if it's the last thing he does, whether it's with Zoe or any lucky fellow who fancies fucking a movie star. Chris Pine is all about making dreams come true.

He's granted entrance to the club with only a subtle raise of eyebrows and a single nod from the bouncer, cutting ahead of a long line of entirely fuckable men. He hums to himself, hoping he'll see some of them later. When he walks in, it's incredibly dark, but once his eyes adjust, there's no need for light. Chris checks his watch and looks up as he makes his way to the bar, smiling at the familiar sight of cages dangling from the ceiling.

 _Tonight it's all but nice  
Don't wait too late to die  
White girl, white boy, hold tight  
Turn back? All right, I didn't think so_

Chris is fucking loving this. He's the goddamn star of this club and he's got everyone in the palm of his hand, just as he'd hoped. He grins and nods to calls of "Hey, Chris!" whenever he weaves through the crowds, even though he doesn't know who the hell any of these people are. He doesn't really need to know. Tonight, Chris Pine is everyone's best friend and, as he sees it, everyone's sexual fantasy. Of course, it's been an hour already and Zoe still isn't in sight, but he chalks it up to her loss. He'd probably have less fun if she were here, annoyed that no one was talking to her and nagging him about leaving every ten minutes. Chris constantly applies chapstick to keep his lips looking glossy (a trick Zach taught him, though that's beside the point) and makes sure to dance with his hands up high in the air, so his tight plaid shirt (he wore plaid the night he met Zach, too, he still remembers) rides up and exposes a tan sliver of skin, enough to keep everyone wanting more.

People keep buying him drinks, too, which is funny. When you're not famous and can't catch a break, no one wants to even look at you, let alone buy you a rum and coke, and when you can afford to buy a round for pretty much everyone in the club, the drinks are all either gifted or on the house. _Go figure_ , Chris thinks, as he slams back a Tequila...something. It has tequila and it burns, so it's good and he orders a second.

"On the house, Chris," the bartender says, sliding it over. Chris lets out a disbelieving laugh as he tosses him a large bill as a tip.

"Okay, I get it now, free drinks mean better tips. That's smooth, man."

"Not even." The guy—a rather fetching and rugged dark-haired man, gay clubs always hire the best help—shouts and leans close so Chris can hear him. "It's not often we get good-looking celebrities in here. At least, not straight ones."

He winks and moves away when another customer flags him down and Chris laughs to himself, looking up when another distinctly handsome gentleman, this one blond and slim, nudges him. "I never thought you were straight," he says. "Not with those lips."

Chris cocks his hip and grins. He _likes_ this one. "Wanna dance?" he says, and before the words are barely out, the guy's got his hand, leading him to the floor.

After a couple of songs, Chris starts to feel his shirt sticking to him and realizes his buzz is wearing off. He reaches for his pocket and then groans, remembering that he used up all the coke before he got here; Anton wasn't kidding about his short supply. He looks up at his dance partner, whatever he said his name is—Bill? Ted? No doubt willing to provide an excellent adventure?—and leans in close to his ear. "You don't have any coke, do you?" he asks.

"Coke? Yeah! My boyfriend's a dealer." He reaches into his jeans and extracts a vial, handing it to Chris. "Consider it thanks for getting to dance with Captain Kirk."

"God, everyone's a Trekkie," Chris laughs, and he kisses the guy for good measure before heading off to the bathroom—such a gift deserves a gentlemanly response.

Once he's in the men's room, he locks himself in a rather unsanitary stall and does his old lines-along-the-thigh trick. He'd do it outside, but he's got Zach's voice in his head, bothering him to suspect everyone, assume that everyone's got a secret camera on their lapel. He supposes that if anyone here does, it's too late for him to turn back now, but he doesn't need photos of him snorting coke turning up, that's for sure. He sniffs hard and tilts his head back, his eyes watering slightly. He hasn't done this in so long and he's probably going overboard, but fuck it, he can take care of himself. Even if the alcohol is starting to catch up with him, the drug should fix that.

Chris pockets what's left of the vial and strides out of the restroom, feeling warm and slightly woozy; he stops in his tracks when he looks up at what he thinks at first is some kind of hallucination: Zach, as perfectly clad in black and white as the night they met, turning from the mirror above the sink, staring intently at him.

"Hey, Abercrombie," he drawls, folding his arms across his chest. "I should have known I'd find you in here." Chris blinks rapidly at him, his breath coming in a shuddery gust.

"How the fuck did you know I was here? At the club?"

"Zoe told me. She's worried sick about you. _I'm_ worried sick about you." Zach's expression takes a quick turn, then, from smugness to concern. It's enough to make Chris' stomach swell and churn. "Why haven't you returned any of my calls? What the fuck are you even _doing_ here, Chris? Don't tell me you're trying to be romantic."

"Even if I were, you'd just laugh at me," Chris retorts, not knowing where the words have come from. He feels hot, looking at Zach, his mouth incredibly dry. "I don't need you to follow me around and tell me what to do. I've never needed you."

"You've _always_ needed me, Chris." Zach steps closer to him, cupping his face in his smooth, dry palms and Chris resists the urge to fall into him. "Look at you," he whispers, eyes searching Chris' face. "This isn't the answer. Look, I know...I know I didn't do right by you, okay? I never have. But I'm not going to let this go on until it's too late. Break up with me all you want; even if we're not together, it doesn't..."

Zach trails off and lets him go, his eyes darkening and lips parting with a quiet, disturbed sound. As soon as Chris glances toward the mirror and spots the trail of blood leaking from his right nostril, he knows why. He tries to sniff the blood back in, shuddering as the tickle makes his eyes water.

"I wanted to go back," he whispers, and he's probably not making any sense at all, but if anyone can understand him, it's Zach. "It was good then, a-and none of this mattered...it could have been _different_ for us, Zach, you and I could be..."

His brain tells him to lean against Zach, but it ends up being more of a stumble, and suddenly he feels every drink of the evening sloshing against the inside of his skull, pooling around his brain, and the white powder is marching, stampeding, in direct opposition. Zach's strong arms fold around him and Chris wants to send Zoe a giant bucket of roses for sending him here. He hears Zach say, "Chris, you okay?" and when he just tips his forehead against his shoulder in response, "I didn't think so. Come on."

And then they're on the move.

 _This boy's in love, love  
This boy's in love, under city, under city lights_

Chris is in love with Zach. He always has been, ever since the moment he laid eyes on him, dancing and writhing like a goddamn hooker in that metal cage. Everything he ever wanted from Zach, Zach gave him; Chris was just too blind to see it. He doesn't want to take back all the years they've spent together. He thought he wanted that, but he doesn't. He has a million things to say to Zach but his tongue won't work and he can't form the words. He wants to caress Zach's hands when they buckle him into the passenger seat of his car, to stop their scared shaking. He never wants Zach to be scared. He'll punch any reporter or photographer who dares to hurt him again, any loudmouthed prick who thinks it's okay to put him down. Chris tries to reach out to him, but his arms are like lead.

"Chris," he hears Zach whisper, and there's a slightly crazed edge to his voice that Chris isn't used to. It's as if he's practicing for a new role, trying on someone else's skin. "It's okay, babe. You're with me; you're safe now. I'm getting you out of here. I'm getting both of us the fuck out of this city, right now. Enough is enough...we don't belong here. We can't do this. We're going, okay? We're gone."

 _Zach_ , Chris wants to say. _Calm down. Let's just go home. We can talk about this more in the morning, we'll call our publicists; maybe arrange a press conference if we have to...everything will be fine. You're too wound up; didn't they teach you how to relax in yoga class? Eat some damn Cocoa Puffs and do a Downward Dog, for christ's sake._

His head lolls back against the headrest as Zach starts the car up and peels out of his spot and Chris half-wonders if people are following them. He hopes not. Zach can't take any more stress today and neither can he. Everything feels so heavy, even the air in the car. He's able to crack his eyes open slightly and he sees Zach clutching the steering wheel, staring out at the road. He's breathing in quick, short spurts and his expression is panicked. Something is wrong, Chris can tell. Something has gone totally, utterly wrong.

It's unbearable to see Zach in distress like this, so he shuts his eyes again, focusing instead on the overhead streetlamps as they pass the car—or maybe it's the car passing them, that makes more sense. They leave trails of fuzzy light along the insides of his eyelids, like shooting stars. They're so lovely and fleeting that they make it difficult to breathe, leave him struggling with the air. He hears Zach curse and feels the car go faster.

It won't be so bad to leave this all behind, if that's what Zach wants. In a way, it's what he wants, too. So what if he never experiences the thrill of landing a role again or never gets to step back into the shoes of Captain James T. Kirk? He had his fun and he made good friends and decent films along the way. Hardly anyone in this world gets a chance to live out their dreams the way he and Zach have; he should be grateful and move on, because all he really wants now is to be with Zach, in another version of reality where no one cares what kind of coffee they drink or how much money they make or what they ask of each other in the darkness of their bedrooms. He wants a fresh start, full of mornings that begin with him waking up draped across Zach's body and don't end with weighty decisions that guilt him into slipping away without a goodbye. There are other streets than these, other towns and cities, other time zones. Perhaps one exists somewhere in which they can look at each other and feel confident enough to utter the word _love_.

He should have stayed this morning, he knows that now. Should've just gone back to sleep and let himself be woken a second time by creeping sunlight and gentle fingers toying with his hair. He could have made them one hell of an omelet. The home fries, as always, would have been stupendous. Noah curled at their feet, begging for scraps of bacon. Freshly brewed coffee and a half-load of laundry, churning away in the washing machine. Picking outfits for the day and then deciding not to wear anything at all.

And Zach. As always, in all his favorite moments, this boy, this man: Zach.

This life is over now, that's plain to see. And it's okay. _Goodbye, Hollywood_ , he thinks. _You'll never see this face again_. He doesn't know how long he's going to be in this car, how long he'll have to wait until they reach their destination, but he trusts that Zach is taking him somewhere far better than this. He's always admired Zach for dismissing the idea of fate, for choosing to control his own destiny. He might have given Chris the keys to the skies, but now he's happy to give them back and entrust them to Zach, to whom they've always truly belonged. Chris knows he'll keep them safe.

They drive for minutes. They drive for hours. He feels Zach's touch alight on his brow, along his jaw, and it's enough to assure him that everything will be fine. The city lights keep moving in quick succession, like a rapid, pulsing drumbeat, guiding the way.

 _Goodbye: this town, these streets, your friends  
We'll never see this place again  
They'll think about you now and then  
They'll never see our faces again_

 **IX. Anywhere**

 _Deeper, I know you want it deeper  
You know you want it deeper  
I think we're going deeper  
I know you want it_

 _Faster, I know you want it faster  
I know you want it faster  
These days we're moving faster  
I think we're moving_

It's half past six when Zoe calls. Zach shuffles into the living room, where he left the phone earlier, and sits on the sofa, Harold immediately curling beside him. The sun is starting to go down and the light is golden, shattering its way through the window blinds, across the floor and over the furniture. Harold stretches into it, his fur feeling warm to the touch.

"Hey, Z," he says, and props his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles.

"You signed the contract today, right?"

"I did," he says, making sure to smile, even though she isn't here and can't see anyway. "I'm all set to play your distinguished half-Vulcan lover, once again."

"Yes!" Zoe squeals. He laughs because he can hear her jumping up and down. "Oh, god, I can't wait. I never thought I'd miss all that running around and hours of make-up and wearing that tight-ass ponytail so much." She laughs then, too, and it's infectious, a bubbly soda-pop laugh; Zach is sure someone could bottle it and make a killing in profits. "So, that's nearly everyone, then...you're signed, and I heard from John and Karl, Anton, Simon..."

"Bruce?" Zach asks, ignoring the obvious.

"Yeah, Bruce! He's so thrilled they're going to include him again..."

A few moments of sad silence lurch by and Zach finally shakes his head, murmuring, "Well, if you haven't heard from him, I certainly wouldn't have, you know."

"He'll sign on," she sighs. "He's better now. Karl said he's doing really well and J.J. seems more than willing to take a chance on him."

Zach forces himself to stare blankly ahead; even months after the fact, he can still envision that entire evening when he closes his eyes. Zach took him to a hospital outside of town so word wouldn't get out as quickly, speeding all the way. It seemed like no matter how hard he stepped on the gas, he needed to go faster, faster—and yet, he was terrified that he'd get pulled over and not make it there in time. As soon as they got to the hospital and Chris was taken away for whatever detox routine he required, he bent forward, his palms to his knees and cursed himself for putting Chris in jeopardy by going to a hospital so out of the way and driving like a madman, for putting career over health. He couldn't help it. It was how he'd been trained.

He sat in the waiting room and called Chris' parents, trying to explain the situation as best as he could with a mind full of noise. It had been the scariest drive of his life; every time he looked over at Chris, he could practically see him falling deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, his breathing growing harsh and labored, and there was nothing he could do to bring him back. His body still thrummed with adrenaline as he sat in the waiting room, following the given instructions of the place and waiting, waiting, nearly driving himself crazy with impatience among those white walls and plastic seats. When Chris' parents arrived, his father insisted he go home, get some rest and come back later. Zach didn't want to leave Chris, but the frantic buzz of the drive was wearing off and he was crashing, big time. If he didn't head out just then, he'd probably have fallen asleep at the wheel altogether and driven right into a tree. Plus, Chris was in good hands. So he left, going home and falling asleep for five hours, slumped over at his kitchen table.

When he drove back later in the day, he was told that Chris' parents had checked him out already. There was no one there to see. And no one to talk to—all his phone calls, to all of the Pines, went straight to voicemail and by the next day, any call to Chris was interrupted by an automated message that droned, _This number is no longer in service_. By the end of the evening, it was all over the news that Chris had checked himself into rehab.

He thought about Robert's tight smile as he squeezed his shoulder and urged him to go home, get some rest; the fatherly voice that seemed to sympathize with his apprehension and emotional exhaustion. Obviously, he agreed that Chris needed to get the fuck away from Zach. In his heart of hearts, Zach knew he was right. He put the phone down after the fifth attempt and didn't bother trying again.

"I know he is, I've seen some photos," he says to Zoe. His voice is slightly hoarse, all of a sudden. He licks his lips and tries not to stutter. "Well, if...even if he doesn't sign on, it'll still be a blast."

"He will sign on, Zach," Zoe says, softly. "He's Captain Kirk. He was _born_ for it and he knows it. You saw that in him before anyone else."

 _It doesn't matter now_ , he wants to say. _It's in the past; let it go. We're moving on._

"We'll see," he says, instead. He sinks deeper into the cushions.

 _Further, I know we're going further  
You know we're going further  
Yeah, now we're climbing further  
And I can see it_

 _Warmer, yeah, now you're getting warmer  
Feel like you're getting closer  
Yeah, now you're getting so hot  
Feel like you're burning_

Zach has spent the last few months paying very close to attention to Chris' recovery progress in the news. It's the best he can do, piecing together scant information from blogs and magazine articles with the occasional updates from Karl and Zoe. Karl was hesitant at first to tell him anything, but after one particularly piteous phone call during one of Zach's bad days, with slight hyperventilation and begging on Zach's end, he softened and agreed to open up a bit about what he knew.

And Zach does have good days and bad days. Not a single one has gone by when he doesn't think about Chris, but sometimes, it takes all he has not to break every fragile object in his house and fall to his bare knees in the broken pieces. Zach hates clichés with a passion, but even he can't deny the truth: he created a monster. He almost wants Chris to pass on doing the sequel so he can just leave all this ugliness behind. Chris has been out of rehab for about two months, though he quietly moved to a different neighborhood, and on the days Zach is lucky enough to see a new photo of him, out and about, he looks better and better, climbing further up the ladder to good health and sound mind again.

He can't bring himself to think about what it might do to Chris' mental state to have to work side by side with him again. It's not like Kirk and Spock can avoid each other. It might even be more intense than the first time around. He can't bring himself to think about working with Chris and not being able to touch him. Having to pretend that they're just co-stars, acquaintances, that there was never anything between them.

He hopes Chris passes on it. Hell, if he believed in a god, he'd pray for it.

So, of course, it doesn't surprise him when he turns on _E! News_ one night and hears Ryan Seacrest breaking the big news with his dumb, shrill voice.

 _Is recent rehab visitor Chris Pine ready to jump back into the captain's chair for the upcoming_ Star Trek _sequel? That is so TRUE... The 29-year-old actor, looking healthy and happy today while shopping in downtown Santa Monica, told us that he's just signed on to revisit the role that originally shot him to stardom—Captain James T. Kirk, the_ U.S.S. Enterprise _'s leading man and infamous ladykiller. He'll be joining fellow actors Zachary Quinto, Zoe Saldana, John Cho and the rest of the 21st-century_ Trek _cast as they boldly return to the bridge on the set of the J.J. Abrams-helmed sequel. Chris says he's feeling great and looking forward to playing Kirk again and, "reconnecting with the greatest cast on Earth and the entire galaxy..."_

"Oh, barf," Anton says, picking a mushroom off his pizza slice and depositing it into his mouth. "Chris would never say that."

John shakes his head, using his perfected straight-man voice. "See, I take offense at your instantaneous dismissal of Ryan Seacrest's journalistic integrity. He strikes me as a trustworthy guy. I'm actually thinking about asking him to be my kid's godfather, but, you know. I'm kind of shy."

Naturally, Zach chose this evening as the night for their weekly pizza party. Zoe had instituted it as a means of getting Zach's mind off of things, namely Chris Pine and his beautiful fucking face, the one currently staring at him from the TV screen. And, of course, they're at her place this week, so he can't even go and hide under his own bed.

"Is Ryan Seacrest gay?" Anton asks. "Because he looks gay."

Zach puts his plate down and shuts his eyes. He kind of wants to pass out and vomit at the same time.

"You guys, didn't you hear what he said?" Zoe interrupts, waving a hand at the TV. "Chris said yes! I knew he would do it!" The look of glee on her face brings on another wave of nausea for Zach, and suddenly she's looking at him in concern, placing a hand on his forehead. "You okay, baby? You don't look well. You're kind of warm."

"Yeah, I...something in the pizza, maybe," Zach mumbles. Of course he feels warm. He's one step closer to the supernova that is Christopher Pine, preparing himself for the moment when he has to cross paths with all that heat. He feels like he's _burning_.

He goes home that night and lies in bed, catching the rerun of the broadcast. The warmth floods him again, but this time it's the memory of all the heat that radiated from Chris' body as it curled against him, between these very sheets. The cotton is cool to the touch now, stiff and unmarked. He's on his own now. So is Chris. Wherever he is.

The sound of thunder nearly tears him from his reverie. He sits up and looks out at the storm as it rages beyond his window. It's so loud, it feels almost apocalyptic.

 _Surprise, surprise  
You're on your own  
It's in your eyes  
The loves you've known  
And the ones you loved  
You lost completely_

"Zach, come on."

"No."

"Come _on_. Don't be like that."

Zach's shoulders stiffen as he takes a long sip of his tea. He's been trying to wean himself off his coffee habit, but it's not really working. The waitress comes by and asks if he'd like a refill on the hot water, and he sighs, shaking his head. "Lemme just get a cup of coffee instead," he says, and she nods, walking off. Karl laughs, stirring sugar into his own refilled cup.

"I knew it wouldn't last," he says. He picks up his burger and takes a hearty bite, smirking across the table at Zach, who stabs at his salad.

"It's because you're _stressing_ me with this shit, Karl. You invite me out for lunch two weeks before we start shooting, tell me you're throwing a cast reunion party _tomorrow night_ , and I'm supposed to be all...'Woohoo, partaaaay?'" He shakes his head, waving a hand. "Screw that."

Karl finishes chewing and swallows, licking his lips. "Well, why wouldn't you be? I throw pretty epic parties, mate. And everyone is going to be there."

"That's the problem," Zach says. He nods gratefully when the waitress brings him his coffee, dumping in a packet of Splenda and pouring in some of the regular milk. Karl arches in eyebrows in unbridled surprise and Zach shrugs. "They never have soy milk at this place."

"Now I've seen everything." Karl licks a spot of ketchup from the corner of his mouth and finishes his burger quickly, leaning back in his chair to adjust his trousers. He gives Zach a frank look after a whole minute goes by without any words exchanged. "Look, Quinto. I'll be straight with you."

"Makes a change," Zach murmurs from the rim of his cup.

"I'll ignore that, since I do think you should hear what I'm about to say, which is, my prissy little friend, that Chris _wants_ to see you."

Zach's head jerks up at that, and he nearly spills his coffee all over himself. Which would suck, because he hasn't had any in ages and he needs it right now like he needs oxygen. "He...he does? But the...he moved, and his number changed, and..."

"He's still got the same number. His father just suspended his account while he was in rehab. And he moved because he didn't want the paparazzi bugging him about it after he got out." Karl's face screws up in both amusement and disbelief. "You think he was purposely trying to throw you off his trail? Christ, you're more self-absorbed than I thought, Quinto."

Zach glares at him, then, his lips pursed tight as a million thoughts and emotions ripple through him. It's probably a bad thing that he knows Chris still has his old number, considering he never got up the courage to delete it from his phone. He has half a mind to call him up right now and barrage his voicemail with weepy renditions of Neruda.

"I...I still can't," he finally says, weakly. He looks down into his cup and exhales. "You were right back then, Karl...I had him and I lost him because I never gave him what he needed. And he loved me _so_ much, it was right there in his goddamn _eyes_ , and I just...I pushed him too hard. I was afraid and I fucked him up. I did this to him, I can't—"

"The kid asks about you all the time, Zach." Karl's voice is stern but patient, and it snaps Zach to attention, urging him to adjust his glasses so he can watch the other man's face as he speaks. "He doesn't blame you for what happened to him. Even if the two of you were a goddamn ticking time bomb, it doesn't erase everything you went through, and all that you did for him. He's told me about it." He licks his lips, gathering his thoughts and lowering his voice, unable to meet Zach's stare. "I wanted to save him from you, you know...? I thought...god, this kid is so fucking young and bright and _good_ , and this guy's just feeding off him, taking what he wants and..."

Karl trails off and Zach slumps down into his seat. Fucking Karl, making him remember this mediocre lunch forever. He shuts his eyes and whispers: "I thought he was going to die...that I'd lost him completely."

"But you didn't," Karl says. Zach opens his eyes again and the Kiwi is giving him one of his patented _Duh, Zach_ looks. "So what are you mourning, exactly?"

Zach blinks owlishly, not knowing what to say to that. He's in the midst of trying to think of a snappy response when Karl spares him the effort and lightly kicks him under the table, muttering in a distinctly Bones-esque voice, "Eat your damn salad, Splenda Queen. Won't eat dairy but you're drinking a hot cup of cancer every day. Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Zach quirks a slight smile and does as he's told.

 _Louder, yeah, now it's getting louder  
The noise is getting louder  
The night is getting louder  
And I can hear it_

 _Stronger, and now you're going stronger  
Yeah, now you're getting stronger  
You're finally growing stronger  
And I can feel it_

The party turns out to be a rager, though a surprisingly dry one: Karl has instituted a policy of zero alcohol and drugs for the evening, in support of Chris. Zach considers his bottle of Diet Coke and wants to point out that Chris went to rehab for cocaine abuse, not alcohol, but he supposes it's the sacrifice that counts. Plus, he imagines the gesture will put one of those stunning smiles on Chris' face that he remembers so well, and that, right there, will surely be worth everyone's efforts.

Chris isn't here yet, though, and the wait is causing Zach's toes to tap impatiently against the floor, his fingers to pick and peel incessantly at the label on his bottle. Every time the door opens for a new guest, his breath quickens, only to calm again when it's someone decidedly not Chris. He nearly starts out of his seat when Clifton walks in, who just smirks and gives Zach a Vulcan salute. He returns it with a slightly embarrassed smile and then gets up to hug him properly. He makes a mental note to apologize later for any disappointment he might have given off when Clifton walked in.

Zach steals a spot against the back wall of the living room, propping himself up with his left foot. Zoe sidles up to him after a while, sipping from a can of ginger ale. "Hey, sexy," she says. She rubs his arm with a knowing smile. "You nervous?"

"I don't get nervous," Zach replies, trying to put on his best Spock—hell, even Sylar would do right now. Any character that scoffs at the feelings he's been dealing with for the past few months would be a pleasant change for his psyche.

"Yeah, right," Zoe smirks. "I know you used to be cool as a cucumber, honey, but face it: that boy changed you. And it's not a bad thing." She pokes the tip of his nose gently and then kisses him, a fleeting, friendly brush of lips. "I'm excited for you," she whispers. "It's a fresh start."

"That would be nice," he murmurs back. Nice, a benign word compared to the tangle of teenage angst he feels roiling in his gut. Nice will do for now.

Just then, the entire room seems to erupt into a round of cheers and they both turn their heads toward the front door. There's Chris, peering in and laughing at the warm welcome, and Karl immediately scoops him up into a bear hug. Zach thought he'd lose his breath completely when he first saw Chris, but he finds he's smiling fondly at the way everyone is so ridiculously happy to see him. The crowd that gathers around him for congratulatory embraces and kisses on the cheek is almost comical in both size and exuberance.

"I'm going to go say hi," Zoe says, squeezing Zach's wrist before skipping off. Zach just stays where he is, content for now to revel in the scene as an outsider. It doesn't last long, as John comes out of nowhere to place a glass of what looks to be champagne in his hand, winking as he explains, "Sparkling cider. We're doing a toast for Chris."

Zach nods as John flits away and directs his gaze to the front of the room where Karl is loudly—very loudly—clinking his glass with a fork and shouting for everyone to raise their own in honor of their "talented, brave, fucking awesome best friend and compatriot, Christopher Whitelaw Pine." Chris' cheeks glow with a dutiful blush as the kind words are bellowed, and when he looks up, it's directly at Zach, who feels utterly captivated by the strength of that superhuman gaze. The noise of the party grows exponentially louder around him.

Zach reminds himself to raise his glass. His answering "Cheers" is a mere whisper into the amplified din of the night.

 _So let yourself down tonight  
Anywhere  
I'll take you out tonight  
Anywhere  
Put on that dress you like  
Anywhere  
The one with birds on it  
They're flying around_

It's not ironic that Chris finds him on the balcony. He almost doesn't see Zach at first because he's pressed against the building façade. But, of course, he does find him. Zach wants to wince at the sight of him; he's too beautiful for words, and he looks stronger than he's ever been. How can Zach ever believe it doesn't have something to do with his absence? He has a sudden vision of the boy from the club, far less rugged and muscled than the man before him now, but just as illuminated. Blue Eyes. Abercrombie.

"Chris," he whispers. And then his throat feels too crowded to say anything else.

"Hey," he says, shifting awkwardly before holding up his glass. "You know what'd make this better? Rum."

Zach laughs suddenly. He could kiss Chris for piercing the silence with a joke. Hell, he could kiss him anyway. He wants to. "Don't look at me; it was all Karl's idea."

"I know. It's actually really sweet." Chris smiles faintly and nods to himself, looking at the glass again. "But still, a little buttered rum and this would be fucking _ridiculous_."

"Buttered rum with sparkling cider? You're crazy."

"Crazy like a fox." Chris leans back against the railing of the balcony without batting an eye and Zach has to smile. The guy really is brave, isn't he? Suddenly, Zach has to wonder what he's been so afraid of, this whole time. "So...two weeks to go until we're back in the saddle again. Ready for it?"

"I think so." Zach reaches up and absently touches one of his eyebrows. "Not so much the shaving again, but...I suffer for my art."

"Not to mention for fashion. Those jeans are at least two sizes too small, dude. They can see your junk from Mars."

Zach blinks and looks down at his crotch, fighting off a blush. "Well, if they're looking, they deserve what they get, i.e. an eyeful of Zach Quinto."

"We both know you're more than an eyeful," Chris murmurs.

They exchange smiles and when Chris' blossoms into a full-on grin, Zach feels short of breath, like he could bump against a rubber balloon and fall to pieces.

"Chris...I'm so fucking—"

"It's okay," Chris says, raising a hand to cut him off. The grin falls away and he shakes his head sorrowfully. "I should have called you to let you know I was okay. I mean...you fucking saved me, Zach. I was just confused and...ashamed." He sniffs and runs a hand back through his hair. "I wanted to convince myself that I didn't need you."

"You don't need me, Chris."

"Oh, don't give me that shit." He rolls his eyes and quirks a small smile. "You know we're two codependent bastards. If you'd driven us to fucking _Kansas_ that night, I would have been fine with it. I'd follow you anywhere, Zach."

 _Me too_ , Zach almost says. But he knows that's not what Chris needs to hear. He licks his lips, a habit he probably picked up from him. "I wouldn't ask you to, Chris. I'll never make you follow in my footsteps again. That's not what's right for you."

"But what if I want to?" Chris whispers, and oh god, it's so hard to look away from those eyes. They've been gone for so long. He feels like Spock, coming face to face with twin stars, struggling to fight back all the emotions they elicit.

Zach forces himself to glance at the birds swooping across the sky, silhouettes against the setting California sun, blazing as it closes in on the horizon. It's like the end of the world out there, down where the sun is going, and he and Chris are right there with it.

 _Now, when you're short of breath  
Go anywhere  
And when your heart's in pieces  
Anywhere  
I'll take you out tonight_

"Well, that's different," Zach says. He puts his glass down on the railing. "But not like the way it was."

"No," Chris whispers. "New start. Fresh start."

Chris reaches out and cups the back of Zach's neck, his fingertips warm like points of light against his skin, and their foreheads meet to rest against each other. Chris is so close to him now, all gold and soft edges against him, but there's no need to rush, no need to kiss him senseless or touch him all over, as much as he might want to and as much as Chris might expect it. Zach has to earn that now. He's willing to wait for what he wants, as long as he needs to. He'll do anything, go anywhere.

They stand there like that for who knows how long, the sun slipping behind buildings until it filters away, the thump of the music booming like an old friend from behind the wall, coming from a safe space where everyone loves them, a place where they're allowed to love each other.

"Should go back inside soon," Zach mumbles, centimeters from Chris' mouth. "All your admirers are awaiting your presence."

"I'll go if you go," Chris whispers teasingly. Zach adjusts Chris' tie and smiles to himself. He's always liked this one; it looks good with his complexion.

"I'll be there in a minute. Go on."

Chris parts himself from Zach then, offering him one last smile before taking his glass and heading back into the apartment. Zach turns to watch through the glass-pane doors as he's immediately inundated by the waiting horde of their friends, showered with their compassion and adulation. Chris has always had that affect on people, Zach knows. It used to make him jealous, but it's a different world now, and he finds he doesn't mind. He knows what he has and now that he's not afraid of it, he hopes Chris knows, too. There are a lot of scary things to be afraid of in life; love is the least of them. Sinking isn't so bad, either; the sun does it every night and always returns to rise again.

Zach skims his palm along the edge of the balcony, listening to the old, familiar sound of Chris' laughter. He curls his fingers tightly around the railing, enough to distinguish the beat of his pulse. He feels it flow, everywhere.


End file.
